


A Pundamental Idea

by Gemi



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Bonding through Puns, Fluff, I at least think it is a slow burn, I'll fill this ship tag by myself if I have to, M/M, Post Season 15, Romantic Comedy of sorts, Slow Burn, background mentioned Grimmons, written to honor those who corrupted me and made me love puns, you know who you are
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-30
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-04-14 22:59:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14146479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gemi/pseuds/Gemi
Summary: Donut takes a step back and squints up at the thing. He vaguely makes out a blurr, and it’s enough proof for him to wave his arms to get Locus’ attention.“Hey!” he calls, “Let me do you!”There is the sound of someone choking, quickly followed by the sounds of armor sliding against rock, only to end with a heavy thump on the other side of the Big Boulder. Donut rolls his eyes and jogs around it. Apparently ex-mercs could be snuck up on.





	1. Chapter 1

Locus settles in the way a cat settles down in a dog park.   
  
Which is to say, not stealthily at all despite all attempts to _be_ stealthy. Donut is rather convinced the poor guy will hiss and slap someone on the nose within the week, considering how everyone but Grif veer wildly between suspicious and too nosy for their own good. Caboose, bless his big, big heart, is perhaps embodying a literal puppy with his ambush hugging. A big one, like the one from when Donut was five and decided it was time to ride that bad boy- until his mothers put a stop to that, because apparently riding a horse sized dog was bad for said dog’s back.  
  
Of course, _Donut_ isn’t worried. If one were to ask him, everyone deserves a little slapping now and then. Some even _like_ it, although Donut doesn’t quite understand those ones.  
  
But a week passes by, then two, followed by three and four. Locus still reminds him of a permanently fluffed up cat, but a cat that _hasn’t_ slapped someone. Or killed anyone either, which makes him far more trustworthy than the Blue Team who all seem overly fond of dropping like flies as well as kill innocent, _gorgeous_ bystanders such as Donut himself. That Locus hasn’t followed the Blue Tradition can only mean one thing.  
  
He’s a Red, which Sarge decides four weeks and three days after Locus first joined them.  
  
  
  
-

 

The Blues protest, of course, but Donut can’t afford to pay attention to it all. Sarge will handle it, go full commando and put them in their place. Donut doesn’t need to help out with that- not when Grif is, for once, eager to assist Sarge with it. And Simmons is Simmons, and, well. Lopez left the moment Sarge declared it. And Donut has absolutely _no_ time to spare.  
  
Because there is a tradition that they _all_ follow within the Red Team, and Locus wasn’t at breakfast when Sarge staked his claim. That means it is Double-O Donut’s job to track him down and give him a hand.  
  
But even though it has been four weeks and three days since Locus joined them, the silly thing still likes to prowl around in his fancy armor. Donut can admire some nice camouflage now and then, but Locus truly takes it to the next level by using it _indoors_. It’s borderline rude, but Donut gets it. Being so shy must suck. Besides, it _does_ give Donut an excuse to brush off his Double-O Donut skills.  
  
Lopez walked away too slowly for him to be followed by Locus, so Donut doesn’t bother checking the garage. It’s rare for Locus to be there anyway, especially after Sarge almost shot him that one time while Locus was still camouflaged. The big guy never showers when they are all awake- shame, really, because Donut has the _best_ conditioner that he would of course let Locus borrow if he just _asked_ \- so Donut skips the Red Team’s showers as well. Wash slept in, so that meant Locus wouldn’t be outside to ‘observe’ him work out.  
  
Not that Donut would blame him. It _is_ pretty damn nice watching Wash do his routine. Hell, even Tucker is starting to look more like a stud these days. Miracles _do_ happen!  
  
The only one out there right then is Carolina, but Locus _never_ watches her routine, so Donut only offers her a brief wave when he passes by her. The beach is next because Donut figured out within the first three days that Locus _loved_ the beach. Or, at least, visited it often. It was fairly easy to figure it out- his camo unit couldn’t hide the way his boots sank into the sand- but Locus never bothered to cover his tracks anyway. To be _fair_ , no one but Double-O Donut ever tries to track him down _properly_.  
  
He isn’t sure how Caboose sniffs Locus out, but it doesn’t count anyway. Donut is using _skills_ and Caboose, bless him, is just all luck and no finesse.  
  
So Donut jogs through the tall grass, following the path they have slowly but surely worn into the ground. The grass is quickly replaced by rocks, then sand, and Donut smile in triumph when he sees the familiar tracks. The tide was just the other day, so everything is wet and squishy as he follows the footprints.  
  
They end by the Big Boulder. It’s not the most imaginative name, but very fitting. It is the size of a small hill, with a few cracks here and there that Donut knows offer good handholds. He walks around it just to be sure Locus didn’t keep walking, but no. The tracks ended by the Big Boulder, which means Locus is there as well.  
  
Donut takes a step back and squints up at the thing. He vaguely makes out a blurr, and it’s enough proof for him to wave his arms to get Locus’ attention.  
  
“Hey!” he calls, “Let me do you!”  
  
There is the sound of someone choking, quickly followed by the sounds of armor sliding against rock, only to end with a heavy thump on the other side of the Big Boulder. Donut rolls his eyes and jogs around it. Apparently ex-mercs _could_ be snuck up on.  
  
Just as he turns the corner, Locus’ camo unit flickers off. His gorgeous hair is a mess from the fall, and Donut bites back a laugh at the evidence that Locus _did_ fall. He must have just been about to remove his helmet, the way it landed so far away rather than remain safely on Locus head. And Locus himself is sprawled awkwardly, half-sitting and shaking his head while frowning. His poor hair is clumped together thanks to the wet sand all around them, and Donut’s fingers twitch with the sudden, intense desire to comb through it.  
  
“Oh wow, I’m sorry,” Donut says, but laughter makes its way into his voice even though he really _is_ sorry. A little, at least. Locus _was_ wearing armor. Locus scowls up at him for but a brief second before it gets replaced by a blank expression. Donut holds out his hand, but Locus ignores it and gets back up onto his feet without help. He doesn’t take it as an insult; not even Double-O Donut can pick up someone in full power armor, especially not when Donut only wore yoga pants and a t-shirt before running out there.  
  
“You okay, big guy?” he asks instead, following Locus as the man stiffly moves to pick up the helmet.  
  
“Yes,” is the response. Then Locus stares down at Donut. He has yet to put his helmet back on, which is giving Donut the opportunity to truly take in that handsome face. Now, Donut knows scars can look _gorgeous_ , thanks to his own masterpiece, but he also knows it takes work to truly pull it off. But Locus’ scar is neat and symmetrical, perfectly highlighting his grey eyes and dark complexion. Donut holds back a dreamy sigh.  
  
“What did you mean?” Locus asks flatly, cheeks a smidge darker than normal.  
  
“Isn’t it obvious? Your nails! You’re part of Red Team now, that means I get to paint your nails.”  
  
Locus’ scowl returned.  
  
“I am not part of your team,” he says, but Donut waves that away, instead opting to link their arms together so that he can start dragging Locus back to base. Locus allows it, although his body is tense.  
  
Donut would _normally_ not intrude on personal space like this, but Locus and Grif shares _one_ thing. And that is escaping when Donut tries to give them some TLC. Locking their arms together makes it harder for Locus to slip away, and makes the risk of broken fingers for Donut _so_ much lower. Not that Locus _would_ break his fingers- he is practically harmless around them, as evidenced by Caboose’s random hugging sprees.  
  
“You are,” Donut informs him, “Sarge said so at breakfast. Long time coming if you ask me! Now, I don’t have much to choose from in green. You sure you don’t want to try some red? I _do_ have moss green and olive green, and a _lovely_ mint green shade too. Other than that I got lightish red, darkish red, red, cherry red- that’s Sarge’s favorite! - gold, maroon, orange, yellow- well, I _had_ yellow, but I’m pretty sure that Grif’s sister stole it. Or he stole it for her, because _she_ wouldn’t know what color to steal.”  
  
Donut glanced back up; Locus had gained a pinched look to his face, and Donut grinned.  
  
“Or maybe you wanna stick to what you know works, and we will go with olive green?” Donut suggested. Red really _was_ more proper considering their team, but Locus looked good in anything green, and maybe he was overwhelmed by too many options. Like Simmons, when faced with too many math problems and a time limit to solve them. Donut could work with that.  
  
“Shore,” Locus replied.  
  
“Great! Do you have experience with-” Donut cut himself off. He frowned. “Sorry, did you-” he looked back up at Locus. Locus, whose lips were twitching just the tiniest bit, and there was something decidedly _twinkly_ about his eyes that he seemed to be trying and failing to suppress.  
  
Donut gasped.  
  
“You did! You made a _pun_!”  
  
“I did not.”  
  
“You did!” Donut insisted, giddy. “You made a _beach_ pun while we were on the _beach_. Oh my god, Locus, I knew I liked you for a reason!” That earned him a bewildered glance from Locus, but Donut ignored that in favor of picking up the pace. “Are you sure you don’t want some lightish red on your nails? It would look _gorgeous_ and we would match. The others don’t appreciate art, you know? Caboose _tries_ , but he just doesn’t know the difference between aqua and teal.”  
  
“You like puns?” Locus finally asked, in a way that leads Donut to believe it took _great_ effort.  
  
“Oh, of course. It’s the most sophisticated kind of humor. Doesn’t matter what Simmons says- or anyone else, really. _No_ taste. You must have had to work so _hard_ to not slip up until now! A good pun is really tough to not say out loud, after all.”  
  
Locus appears to remain bewildered; perhaps he had thought he was all alone in his pun-appreciation. It made sense, Donut decides. But it would be okay; Donut could appreciate it _with_ him now.  
But before Locus could say anything else, a loud shout interrupted them. Donut grimaced; they were close enough to the base now that the zoo the kitchen had become could be heard far too well. He really should introduce them to his mothers- _they_ could teach everyone to not scream in the kitchen. It was barbaric and rude, and terribly inconvenient if someone wanted to hold a brunch. Because to get to his room, they had to actually walk past the kitchen. Not to mention he had been hoping to grab some cheese, maybe some wine, to make it a proper two-man party! He would have invited Caboose too, to make it into a threesome, but something told Donut that Locus would prefer a more private occasion.  
  
Donut pulled to a stop, forcing Locus to do the same. Donut used his free hand to tap one finger against his chin, eyeing the entrance to the base. Carolina was nowhere to be seen- if they were unlucky, she had went inside to try and break up (or join) the fight. She had such keen ears _and_ eyes, it would make it awfully hard to get past the kitchen.  
  
“Hmm,” Donut thought out loud. “Well, we can’t let them see us! Maybe we should go for the rear instead.” It would involve so much more _work_ though, hardly worth it when the door was right _there_.  
  
“I have yet to agree to you painting my nails,” Locus pointed out.  
  
“Shore you have,” Donut grinned and winked, “Don’t be silly. Leave this to Double-O Donut, I’ll get us through this even if we have to lube up and crawl through the vents to get there! And then you will get your lovely hands treated right.” He pointed towards the roof. “Is there anyway we can sneak through there? You should know, you like sneaking about.”  
  
For a moment, Locus appeared conflicted. His fingers were twitching, his eyes flickering between the entrance to the base and the beach they had left behind, before they lingered on how Donut still kept their arms firmly locked together. Finally, Locus looked to where Donut pointed.  
  
“... Yes,” he said, and pulled Donut with him.  
  
What followed was perhaps one of the clumsier sneaking missions Donut had been on. He supposed he should accept some blame for that, as he refused to fully let go of Locus in case the other man bolted for it. But they both laid down on the ground to worm their way past the kitchen window- Donut made certain to keep one hand wrapped around Locus heel, as he couldn’t get a proper grip on Locus ankle while the other man was wearing his armor- and once past it, Donut managed to convince Locus that climbing the ladder while giving Donut a piggyback ride was the _best_ idea.  
  
Once on the roof, they once again laid down on their fronts to squirm across the roof until they reached the hatch in the middle of where Red Base was located. Of course, Donut kept a hold onto Locus boots as well.  
  
Once they reached the hatch, Donut wormed his way up until he was next to Locus. They took a moment to stare at it. It was small, only barely wide enough to let Locus climb down with his armor still on. Donut didn’t have _his_ armor on, but he still wasn’t sure if he could trust Locus to _not_ run away the moment Donut didn’t have a steady hold on him. Because they certainly couldn’t squeeze through that tight entrance together.  
  
“Hmmm,” Donut thought out loud. He glanced towards Locus, who had put his helmet back on when their mission started. It was a shame, because Locus face was truly too nice to hide behind a helmet that didn’t even look _good_. “Alright. Here’s a deal- you go through first.”  
  
Locus tilted his head.  
  
“ _But_ ,” Donut continued, holding up one finger, “You gotta wait for me at the bottom. If you try and run away, I’m going to ride you _so_ hard for that later. Like, blue is _not_ your color but I _will_ paint your nails blue if you run.”  
  
Locus grunted in a decidedly grumpy way. It was muffled from within the helmet, no comms to help them hear each other clearly. Donut waited patiently. Finally, Locus nodded.  
  
“Deal,” he said, and Donut grinned.  
  
“Alright! We will shell-e-brate later,” he said and gave Locus’ back a pat. “See you on the other side.”  
  
“We are not at the beach anymore,” Locus said, sitting up to open the hatch. It made no sound as he did, and Donut internally thanked Lopez for doing his job, “The pun does not work here.”  
  
“It _does_ though. I bet you some gouda cheese that you smiled at it,” Donut argued, inching aside to let Locus lower himself into the hole. It really _was_ a tight fit.  
  
“Denied,” was the flat reply, which, really, was answer enough. Donut smiled triumphantly and gave Locus a jaunty wave right before Locus’ head disappeared. He peered down into the entrance, watching Locus slowly, quietly move down the ladder. He waited until Locus let go of the ladder, and then just to be sure, Donut waited a few extra seconds. Locus didn’t move; instead, he stared up at Donut. And despite the ugly helmet hiding his face, Donut could _still_ see the annoyance building.  
  
“Coming, coming,” he chuckled and lowered himself into the hole. He didn’t have to try as hard to be quiet, since he wasn’t wearing his own armor, and as such he got down far faster. Donut let go of the ladder halfway down and landed with a light thud, patting Locus’ shoulder as he did. “Thanks,” he told him, “Now, time to backtrack. I’ll take the lead, you watch my rear, deal?”  
  
“Deal,” Locus said, only to stiffen when Donut reached out and grabbed his hand. The glove was made of kevlar and that weird, weird fabric that Donut tried to avoid touching if he could. But he held onto Locus hand and begun to lead him back down the corridor, listening carefully to make sure they wouldn't run into the others. Considering their hard work, _that_ would blow hard. Besides, the mission wouldn’t be over until they were safely inside Donut’s room.   
  
Locus didn’t snatch his hand back, which Double-O Donut counted as a private victory.  
  
Of course, backtracking meant they had to get close to the kitchen. And the mayhem was _still_ going on, everyone's voices bouncing against the walls. It became louder the closer they got, but at least most of it was Sarge threatening to shoot everyone and Grif with his shotgun rather than, say, Carolina and Wash making bad decisions. Honestly, Carolina should know better- she was a _Neutral_ , not a Red or a Blue. But, sadly, Donut could hear her voice amongst the cacophony as well and it did _not_ seem to be a calming one.  
  
He huffed and crouched slightly the closer they got to his room. It wasn’t as close to the kitchen as Grif’s and Simmons’, but nearly. Donut eyed the heavy door for a moment. It always made a very distinct sound when he opened it, and that meant he had to time it right. It wouldn’t do at all to open the door to his room right as there was a lull amongst all the yelling. That would just spell their doom _and_ be such a cliché.  
  
“This is gonna be tight,” he whispered to Locus, and Donut dragged him up to the door. He hovered his hand over the button that would open it up with a beep. His other hand still held onto Locus’, and Donut absently squeezed it as he listened to the arguing. At least it was so muffled and scrambled through the thick walls that they couldn’t make out the words. They were no doubt beyond rude.  
  
“Now,” Locus said, hearing some cue Donut couldn’t. But Donut trusted him, and he pressed the button at the word. A low beep sounded, the door swished open, and both of them hurriedly shuffled inside, Donut just as quickly closing the door behind them.  
  
Blessed silence.  
  
Their rooms weren’t _completely_ soundproof, but close enough that Donut lets out a relieved sigh. He hummed and kicked off his sandals onto the welcome carpet that Doc gave him ages ago, and Donut gestured at Locus to do the same.  
  
“No shoes indoors,” he tells him, and Locus takes off his helmet to send him a disbelieving stare, “And no armor! I can’t give your hands the proper treatment if I don’t have free access to them. _Also_ ,” Donut added, “If you do strip, you get to sit on the nice cushion! It’s very nice and soft and plump, perfect for fondling any sore muscles.”   
  
“And if we are attacked?”  
  
“No one attacks during Donut Hour,” he huffed, digging through the drawer where he stored all of his nail polish and make-up. He really shouldn’t mix it all, but space was just so _hard_ to come by, even in their own base. At least it didn’t share the same space as his hair products or, god forbid, his perfumes and colognes. “And even if we _were_ , you’re not allowed to grab anything until the paint dried. Not even a grenade! Don’t worry, I would handle all the tossing of-- a-hah!” He held up a bottle of olive green and wiggled it in Locus’ direction. “Found it. Now strip!”  
  
“I _donut_ want to,” Locus replied, a wryness to his voice. But the pun didn’t go unnoticed, and Donut laughed even as Locus began to unlatch his chest piece. The stripping went slow- slower than it needed to be, but some guys just finished slower than others. Not a _bad_ thing, really, though it felt like one as Donut did his best to not stare _too_ much as thicks arms and wide shoulders were revealed.  
  
But then Locus was free of his armor, and Donut shuffled him over to sit on his best cushion. It really was a plump, nice little thing that managed to support even a hunk like _Locus_. Though, Donut has to admit that seeing Locus in socks rather than combat boots was pretty cute. Which was probably toeing the line of inappropriate, but Red Team was hardly known for _being_ appropriate anyway.  
  
Speaking of socks, though.  
  
“I want to do your feet too,” he said, poking one foot. It was a big one, and Donut resisted the temptation to compare sizes. “You can wear your socks until then, though.”  
  
“Why? I do not make a habit of walking barefoot,” Locus said, frowning slightly.  
  
“To _match_ , obviously,” Donut replied and sat down on the cushion next to Locus. It wasn’t as nice as the one he let Locus take, but Donut was willing to make sacrifices for the greater good. Besides, his rear could handle some rough treatment once in a while. He held out his hand. Locus stared at it, which was understandable. Donut had _very_ nice hands, all thanks to good genes and the lotion he used every night. They _deserved_ admiration, though Locus stared a bit _too_ long for it to be only admiration. Donut grinned and wiggled his fingers.  
  
“Gimme,” he said, and hummed in approval when Locus _finally_ put his hand into Donut’s, palm up. “Oh, firm hands are good! And not as dry as I thought,” Donut praised as he turned the hand over. He thumbed the tiny nicks and scars scattered across the fingers, then slipped the bottle of olive green nail polish into Locus’ other hand. It looked hilariously tiny there, and Locus looked adorably confused. “Hold that, I’m gonna unscrew it and then you get to keep holding it,” Donut told him as he began to unscrew it, “It’s easier if I don't have to let go of your hand all the time.”  
  
Locus grunted what Donut assumed to be an affirmative, and so he began to paint.


	2. Chapter 2

Three days later, and Locus doesn’t run away when Sarge gathers the team to plan battle strategies.   
  
It _might_ have something to do with how Donut is on one side of Locus, Grif on the other. It _might_ have something to do with the fact they all decided to gather at the same time as Locus likes to sneak into the kitchen when he thinks none of them are there.  
  
Locus, for some reason, doesn’t seem to realize he doesn’t _have_ to pretend he’s a robot. Eating is okay- Sarge even stopped trying to poison the Blues! - and none of them are required to _sneak_ in order to eat some delicious cream pie. A cream pie that Donut _will_ take full credit for, as he worked hard on it.  
  
Point is, sneaking isn’t needed unless they plan an attack on the Blues or, as done lately, Gravity. Or to corner their newest member into being part of their strategy meetings.  
  
Of course, Donut can’t say he is good at paying the best of attention to all of Sarge’s plotting. There’s so many of them, and Donut have brunches to plan, as well as his famous cheese and wine dinners. But it’s only _polite_ to sit in on the meetings. Someone on their team has to know manners, and even if Donut got high hopes for Locus, he is- well. Locus is _Locus_ , who likes to hide his nice shoulders inside clunky armor and his handsome, symmetrical scar behind a helmet.  
  
There is work to do, is all. On manners _and_ fashion. But Donut is pretty sure Locus will be way more polite than the others in their team soon enough. It’s not like Grif sets the standard high. _And_ he sat very nicely during their painting session, which was more than Donut could say about anyone else. Even Grif would move about more.  
  
But like all Red Team planning sessions, things quickly get out of control. Donut bemusedly watched as Sarge and Grif threw themselves into a yelling match where Sarge did most of the yelling, Lopez muttering in a corner as Simmons did his weird little flailing routine. Locus remained stiff next to him even though Grif had moved (a miracle!) further away to snark at Sarge, giving Locus a possible escape route.  
  
“Did you taste my cream pie?” Donut asked, half-whispering.  
  
Locus gets even stiffer at that, his cheeks darker than before. Donut smiled brightly at him, waiting patiently. Shyness can’t be forced away, after all, and Locus was _clearly_ struggling for words.  
  
“... what… pie?” he finally gritted out. Donut grinned and patted his shoulder in praise of the hard effort he put through, and made a note to give Locus some fabric softener. That shirt was a bit _too_ rough to the touch.  
  
“The cream pie,” he repeated and gestured towards the Red Fridge. Sarge painted it a rather off-shade cherry red, handle and all. There were still red stains around it, which was of course _awful_ , but Donut couldn’t get rid of them no matter how much bleach he used. It was such a shame- it clashed horribly with the rest of the decor. “I made it myself yesterday, it’s great! Lopez even made a Grif-safe lid for it. I mean, I assume that’s what it is because he hasn’t eaten it yet. Or maybe you’re lactose intolerant?” Donut asked, and he frowned at that.  
  
Locus said nothing, which was answer enough. Donut heaved a sad sigh and leaned against him. Locus was a solid weight, a bit rough around the edges, but that was okay. Donut could handle rough.  
  
“Well, that’s a shame! I really did hope you would like it, I even drizzled chocolate sauce over it to make it look like you. Does that mean you take your coffee black?”  
  
This time Locus frowned and turned his head enough to look at Donut. He didn’t say it outloud- he truly had to be suffering from shyness if he got _this_ quiet around their teammates- but Donut knew what he was thinking.  
  
“The only other one who drinks coffee is Simmons, and he doesn’t drink _that_ much of it,” he explained to Locus in a cheerful whisper, “I myself much prefer tea, it’s _so_ much better for your body and it doesn’t stain your teeth as badly. But don’t worry, your teeth are nice and white considering how much you drink.” Donut tilts his head. “You should smile more.”  
  
“I do not smile,” Locus murmured back, clearly too shy to let the others hear their conversation. Though Donut was honestly not sure the others would hear them even if he and Locus spoke in normal tones; the bickering had grown far more intense as they spoke, but thankfully Sarge seemed to remember the rule of no shooting indoors.   
  
“Of course you do,” Donut chuckled, “with your eyes, at least. That’s how I knew you were rearing up to thrust that pun at me the other day.” He poked Locus cheek; Locus’ eyes narrowed, but he didn’t move an inch or even blink. His cheeks were a smidge darker again, which Donut found absolutely _adorable_. His grin widened.  
  
“So, do you? Take your coffee black? You _have_ to start joining us at breakfast, we could split it up into teams again if you want to. I have this amazing load of coffee beans that needs some hard grinding, but I don’t even _drink_ it and Simmons can barely handle _military_ coffee, it would be murder to let him have some of the real stuff. He would stay up all night. Again! And I’m sure Grif wouldn’t be able to _sleep_ out of worry if that happened.”  
  
Locus’ frown deepened and he raised one eyebrow. It was a nice one, perfectly formed. Donut wondered if it was genetics or if Locus could teach Donut whatever plucking technique he used. Because he had never quite managed to pull off thick brows, but they were _so_ good for dramatic effects.  
  
“I am not part of your team,” he said, voice all low and rumbly. Donut _did_ sigh happily at that, and he bumped their shoulders together. Locus weren’t wearing his upper body armor for once, so Donut didn’t have to be worrying about bruises when doing it.  
  
He was just about to insist that it was already _done_ , Locus was on their roster of chores, he couldn’t abandon the team when Sarge claimed him-- but then Locus spoke _again_.  
  
“If you do not drink coffee, why do you have beans?”  
  
“Ah, that would be _spilling_ the beans,” Donut teased, tapping one finger against the tip of his own nose with a wink, “Just be happy I got them.”  
  
Locus’ eyes were doing the twinkly thing again. The one that was followed by a quick twitch of lips, barely visible to the eye. Donut’s grin widened in apprehension.  
  
“It was un _bean_ knownst to me that you dabbled in smuggling,” Locus said in a low murmur, barely even a whisper. Donut could only hear it because they were pressed shoulder to shoulder.  
  
Donut tried to hold it in; he truly did. He bit his bottom lip, feeling his cheeks flush from the strain of keeping it all in. But then it escaped out in the form of a wheeze. The moment he broke, he gave up completely and leaned forward, snickering into the table, shoulders shaking. He reached out and shakily patted Locus’ thigh to show his appreciation of the pun, but he was too afraid to look up and meet his fellow pun-lover’s eyes. _That_ would make Donut burst into laughter, and he would _hate_ it if they interrupted the others’ bickering.  
  
Locus looked smug for the rest of the meeting, and the look on his face kept sending Donut into another wheezing fit of badly held-back snickers whenever he so much as glanced his way.  
  
It was a relief to escape the kitchen when Sarge called the meeting to an end, and Donut ignored the suspicious stares he gained when he finally released the cackle that had been building up inside of him the entire time. He was still laughing when he grabbed Locus’ arm and tugged him along, and maybe that’s why Locus allowed it. Donut could _dream_.  
  
It took some time before Donut could talk properly again; it wasn’t until they exited the base and reached the Big Boulder that Donut finally stopped snickering every time he met Locus’ eyes.  
  
“Oh gosh, you’re a genius,” he told him, finally releasing the big guy. Locus didn’t move, merely watched as Donut sank down into the sand, back to the boulder and face towards the sea. The sand had dried since the last time they were there, which was why Donut wasn’t too worried about ruining his pants. He patted the spot next to him.  
  
It took a moment, but eventually Locus sat down next to him. Awkwardly, too, and Donut tsk’d at him and tapped his armor covered knee.  
  
“Why didn’t you take this off? Can’t be comfortable _or_ good for your skin to be locked up like that! C’mon, I bet you got nice legs.”  
  
“Why are we here?” Locus replied instead, twitching when Donut bumped shoulders again.  
  
“Why shouldn’t we be here? We got no chores right now, and Sarge’s plan won’t get some action until next week! And Grif and Simmons are so _shy_ about holding hands when they think we can see them, we have to let them have their honeymoon. I tried to tell Sarge that, but he just bah’d and went on to fight gravity again. Really, it’s a shame he doesn’t have a romantic bone in his body.”  
  
Locus didn’t reply. Instead he stared out at the water, the distant sound of alien seagulls taking up the silence. Donut glanced his way, and didn’t bother holding back a grin. The light was just right to give Locus a _gorgeous_ profile, and his hair was back to looking great from the mishap he had the other day. Donut’s fingers twitched; that hair really _did_ look soft and like the perfect thing to comb through using just his fingers. Or---  
  
“Can I braid your hair?” he asked, because hell, he had to take a shot at it. Locus hadn’t protested all that much about the nails, even if he was _still_ wearing gloves. Donut weren’t sure if it was to hide his art or if it was just because Locus was shy or self-conscious. Not that he had anything to be self-conscious _about_ , but Donut could respect that.  
  
“What,” Locus said.  
  
“It’s gorgeous. Do you use conditioner? I never catch you in the showers, but I got some good stuff that can get your hair all lubed up!”  
  
Locus stared blankly at him.  
  
Donut sniffed at his hair. Locus slowly blinked.  
  
“I _do_ smell a bit of citrus. I got a shampoo that smells like peaches, would you like to try that?”  
  
“ _Why_ do you want to… _braid_ my hair?” Locus finally asked, fingers twitching where they rested against the sand.  
  
“Well, it’s gorgeous,” Donut said, echoing his previous answer. “It’s longer than mine, and Grif doesn’t take care of _his_ hair so I don’t want to braid _that_. And hair braiding is great for bonding! And we’re teammates now,” Donut gestured vaguely between them, “So we should do all of the bondage we can.”  
  
Locus grunted, a strained expression on his face.  
  
“Unless you don’t want me to braid it, of course,” Donut hurried to add, “It _is_ very personal and your hair is so pretty, you have to be taking care of it very nicely. But the offer still stands!”  
  
“Right,” Locus said. “I will… _consider_ it.”  
  
“Great! That’s great. Awesome.”  
  
Silence settled back in. Donut fiddled with the hem of his sleeves- it was late enough that a chill had begun to settle, which had him side-eyeing Locus’ bare arms. They were nice ones, of course. As thick as Donut’s legs (and he _never_ skipped leg day!) with some scarring placed just right to define the bulge of muscles. But this close, Donut could see Locus’ goosebumps. The silly thing hadn’t put on anything thicker than his tank top.  
  
“You’re freezing,” he scolded Locus, and he looked down at his hoodie. It was a zip-up one, and Donut _wanted_ to offer it up to Locus. But that would stretch the fabric beyond recognition. So Donut tsk’d and leaned in closer, practically half-way into Locus’ lap. The big guy grew more tense. Perhaps in an attempt to mimic the Big Boulder, or possibly to blend into it.  
  
“Do you want to go back inside?” Donut asked, sliding one arm into Locus’, hugging it close to his side. “I don’t want you to catch a cold! It’s awful to have one _here_ , it’s just too tropically warm here. Last time I had a cold, I was hot and bothered for a whole month.”  
  
“... I am fine.”  
  
“Are you _shore_?”  
  
The corner of Locus’ mouth twitched. Donut grinned up at him and winked when Locus met his eyes. It was adorable, really, the way Locus’ cheeks grew darker whenever he got flustered. And it took so _little_ to do it too. Made Donut reluctant to cure that shyness he had.  
  
“I am _shore,_ ” Locus replied, averting his eyes towards the sunset. “Do you have experience with sailing?”  
  
“Sailing? No, why? Do _you_?” Donut asked, perking up. “I always _wanted_ to, though! Old ships looks very romantically retro, don’t they? Even when they’re half mast.”  
  
“... when you receive your next shipment,” Locus said, perhaps not sure how to handle Donut’s enthusiasm about the subject, “You should consider asking for a small boat, or the materials for one.”  
  
“It would be neat,” Donut agreed, and he gave in to temptation as he pressed his cheek against Locus’ shoulder. It would warm him up more, anyway. It wasn’t _that_ self-indulgent. “But I’m pretty sure Sarge said there were sea monsters down there. Not that I ever saw any, but Sarge is Sarge and knows best!””  
  
“Did your Sergeant not attempt to dye the ocean red a mere week after I arrived?”  
  
“Well, of course. The ocean _is_ blue.”  
  
Locus grunted in response. The silence returned, now more comfortable than before. Donut held back a yawn; he had stayed up _far_ too late, trying to finish decorating his room with the latest fashion before he went to bed. It was catching up to him now, and Locus’ shoulder was _very_ comfortable. But he stretched out his free hand to tap Locus’ glove covered one, the one Donut hadn’t hugged close.  
  
“You didn’t remove it, did you?” he asked, ignoring how Locus’ fingers twitched when he tapped.  
  
“... no,” Locus said. It was slow and soft. Donut hummed happily.  
  
“Oh, good. I mean, if you _did_ , I would just repaint them in lightish red instead. You really _would_ look great in it. You would look good in any pastel, but lightish red is the _best_ pastel. That’s why I wear it, too.”  
  
“I disagree.”  
  
“You’re entitled to your opinion,” Donut agreed, “But I _am_ right.”  
  
Locus raised one brow, but the corner of his mouth twitched. It was victory enough, and Donut grinned. The grin was ruined when he had to do a truly graceless yawn, but at least Donut _knew_ his breath didn’t smell bad.  
  
“You should return to base,” Locus said, and when Donut turned his head enough to see his face better, he could see Locus frowning at the ocean.  
  
“Only if you do too, big guy,” he replied, “You’re all stiff!”  
  
“I do not require rest.”  
  
“Well, you don’t need the beauty sleep,” Donut agreed, “but I don’t want to leave a fellow Red all alone out here! The Blues might kidnap you for their own naughty purpose, and that just won’t do. I mean, Wash has gotten better with his temper I _guess_ , but I wouldn’t want to take any chances, y’know?”  
  
Locus’ frown deepened, and this time he looked towards Donut. He didn’t need to voice his question, and Donut shrugged against him.  
  
“He’s hot, but he _did_ shoot me. Who knows what he might do to a rookie Red.”  
  
“I am _not_ a Rookie.”  
  
“A-hah! But you’re a _Red_.”  
  
Locus heaved a heavy sigh.  
  
“Why do you insist?”  
  
“Because Sarge said so,” Donut fondly told him. “We went over this. C’mon,” he leaned away, tugging on the arm he was hugging, only barely not falling to the ground as he did, “get up, big guy. You need to get hot again and _I_ need to sleep and I can’t do that before I go through my evening routine! At least we have two bathrooms now, so I don’t have to worry about Caboose squirting my lube all over the walls. I have sensitive skin, I can’t waste lube on the _walls_. Do you have an evening routine? Your lips are chapped, I got stuff for that.”  
  
Slowly, Locus got up- the power armored legs no doubt helped- and he tugged Donut up on his feet with little to no effort. It had Donut’s heart flutter; even more so when Locus _still_ didn’t slip his arm free. Instead he let Donut stay there, hugging it close.  
  
“I do,” Locus said, “In a sense.”  
  
“Well,” Donut grinned as they began to walk back to base, “I can show you mine, and you can show me yours.”


	3. Chapter 3

The plan “Na Na Na Breadman” or, as Sarge called it, “Steal the Red Banana Back”, took place a week later. Donut wasn’t a big fan of putting the armor back on, but it _was_ much safer to do so. Grif had managed to gain the intel that told them the banana bread had been hidden away into Blue Team’s bathroom and one could _never_ be sure what the Blues would do during a break of cease fire. They killed _each other_ on a good day, after all. And as much as Donut was totally rocking his facial scars, the pain of getting new ones weren’t tempting enough to make him skip out on safety first.   
  
Now, Donut didn’t want to know _why_ the bread had been squirreled off to their bathroom. Maybe it was a respectful attempt to keep Grif from getting it- the cupboard they kept it in could apparently only be reached by Caboose or Locus -or maybe the Blue Team just didn’t know basic hygiene. Donut _knew_ that Tucker had a kind of messed up beauty routine that he refused to let Donut help with, and he also knew that Wash certainly didn’t take care of himself (the beard _really_ didn’t suit him) and Carolina had only had her hair trimmed _last week_. Finally, too, as Donut had been about to pick up the scissors himself.  
  
Anyway, it wasn’t all that farfetched to imagine the Blues not knowing better than to store some delicious banana bread in a naughty, tight hole like their bathroom cupboard. Shame. It would lose all its moisture locked up there, and Donut had worked _hard_ on that! He had grinded that banana for ages to make it nice and moist, it really didn’t deserve to become something so dry that only _Grif_ would want to eat it.  
  
The plan was fairly simple, compared to most of Sarge’s plans. They were to distract the Blues while Locus and Lopez snuck into the bathroom. Once there, Locus was to extract the bread from its captivity as Lopez switched all the blue products out for red ones as well as making sure that the next shower would dye someone’s hair red. Simmons had attempted to point out that Carolina’s hair was _already_ red, but that hadn’t changed the plan at all. If anything, Donut had had the pleasure to help figure out how to make it strong enough to dye someone’s skin, too. Hopefully at least Wash would gain red hair and a lovely, lightish red hue to his skin. He needed some serious help in the fashion department.  
  
Lopez was also meant to plant a bomb on the toilet, but even Donut could see that said bomb wouldn’t get off as well as a classic bomb. It was just so _tiny_ and _bulky_. Almost cute, with how Sarge painted the bomb red to make sure Blue Team truly knew who had planted it. Donut would _never_ question Sarge’s methods, of course not. It was probably not even _meant_ to explode. It was just a scare tactic, meant to possibly blow up and spray a big, wet mess everywhere! Or leak said mess slowly out on the floor. It made sense, really. The explosives had most likely been replaced by red paint. Probably. Size didn’t matter, anyway.  
  
At least Locus hadn’t rejected his role or denied his membership of the Red Team. It was a good step forward, a huge leap of improvement! Donut had made sure to squeeze his arm to show silent encouragement, but sadly the helmets prevented him from seeing if Locus accepted the praise or did that weird little twitch thing when he disapproved.  
  
“So,” Donut cheerfully said, “Are you ready, rookie?”  
  
Locus turned his head and, despite that _dreadful_ helmet, Donut could feel the glare aimed at him. Hopefully the bright smile he returned was also strong enough to make it through _his_ (much more stylish) helmet. Poor rookie was nervous for his first mission and trying to cover it up! It was Double-O Donut’s responsibility to calm those nerves, and letting Locus get off some steam would surely help.  
  
“It is a simple task,” Locus finally replied, stiffly turning back to staring at Sarge who was doing his usual pre-mission routine that mainly consisted of threatening Grif, “and as I previously stated, I am not a rookie.”  
  
“You’re a rookie in Red Team,” Donut insisted and nudged an elbow against Locus’ side, “Which is great! I’ve been the rookie for _years_ and got railed hard when I didn’t know better. They won’t dare to do any naughty things to _you_. Did you like the cream pie?”  
  
Locus’ fingers twitched, before the clenched into fists.  
  
“Yes,” he said, in that slow way Donut had figured out was his shyness taking over, “it was… good.”  
  
“Oh, good! If you want, I can give you the recipe- you have to whip that bad boy for _ages_ to get it firm enough to not fall apart immediately, but it’s totally worth it.”  
  
“Who told you.”  
  
“Hm?”  
  
“About the cream pie,” Locus elaborated, as slowly as before.  
  
“Oh! Well, no one,” Donut laughed and shook his head, “I just guessed! It hadn’t been given the oral treatment, so Grif didn’t eat _all_ of it at least, and Simmons’ would never steal! And Sarge doesn’t eat anything that’s not red. But it did surprise me. I mean, you said you couldn’t handle lactose.”  
  
“I did not.”  
  
“Hmmm _I guess_. But you didn’t deny it either,” Donut pointed out.  
  
“What are you two talking about?”  
  
“Cream pie!” Donut brightly replied, gleefully watching Simmons’ face turn redder than a blushing tomato, “I can make some more for you, if you want to taste it! I just have to whip up a thick and firm-”  
  
“ _Sarge says we’re heading out now!_ ” Simmons screeched.  
  
“That’s great! Thanks Simmons,” Donut beamed. Simmons spluttered a moment longer before he stomped back to where Grif was snarking against Sarge. Donut glanced up towards Locus, ready to say something to cheer the other guy up before the mission. But Locus was staring at him, and Donut tilted his head.  
  
“What?” he asked.  
  
“It’s not of importance,” Locus replied, and walked to where Lopez was going through the box filled with mission critical supplies.  
  
Donut frowned within his helmet; it didn’t _feel_ like nothing of importance, but he didn’t have time to push for the real answer. Time was of the essence, and _he_ was the star of the show today!  
  
Thing was, Sarge was _very_ good at distraction tactics. He had a loud, booming voice that could distract even the most absent minded people, he knew how to exaggerate and lie _very_ well as well as how to build whatever he needed to thrust a surprise towards the enemy’s face!  
  
But Donut could proudly say he was the best at distracting Blue Team specifically. It was very simple- Carolina found him sweet (as one should!) , Tucker always backed off if Donut brought up those times behind the rock, Caboose was a _sweetheart_ and Wash, well. Donut would admit he didn’t like being _alone_ with Wash. Rockin’ bod or not, it was too easy to think back to that unfortunate time when Wash blew a load all over Donut. Sure, Donut had survived thanks to Doc’s talented hands, but only barely.  
  
But it _did_ mean that Wash was so very, very easy to guilt into literally anything he could think of.  
  
As luck had it, all of Blue Team except for Sister were training outside of the base. Tucker was playing around with his tool, Carolina was trying to teach Caboose how to limber up and Wash was doing push-ups.  
  
The distraction team came to a stop on the edge of the official outside workout area. Donut took the time to appreciate Wash’s shoulders and held back a dreamy sigh.  
  
“Men!” Sarge boomed, causing Caboose to fall on his face and Carolina sending a glare their way as Tucker accidentally chopped the head off of the training dummy. To Donut’s disappointment, Wash didn’t even flinch. “We must begin the war against the monsters in the sea!”  
  
“ _What_ monsters?” Tucker groaned, flicking his button to make his sword go away, “We already killed the _dinosaurs_.”  
  
“Oh gosh, don’t you know?” Donut gasped, clapping his hands to his face. Of course, it was a bit awkward what with him being fully armored, but how else were he to convey his dramatic O-face? “Sarge saw one of the monsters just the other day!”  
  
 _-: We are engaging the enemy base :-_ Locus transferred across the Red channel, and Donut grinned inside his helmet.  
  
 _-: Keep your eyes peeled :-_ he replied, but there was no response. Donut couldn’t help but frown at _that-_ he had expected some kind of pun back - but Wash quickly gained his attention again.  
  
“Sarge, there are no sea monsters,” he patiently said. He had finished his push-ups and was walking up to them. His shoulders were bared thanks to a tanktop, and Donut once again mourned the fact that Wash was so _hot_ but so not a good boy. Because he was _sweating_ and it was _sunny_ outside and, clearly, nothing in life was fair. He was sure Locus would agree, but sadly Locus had to extract their banana bread from the hostage situation, “I’m sure it was just your imagination.”  
  
“But Wash,” Donut whined, stepping closer, “What if they _do_ exist? You should all come help us check it out! How can we go swimming if we don’t know something will eat us? Or kidnap us for dirty purposes!”  
  
“Because- wait, what? What purposes?”  
  
“I don’t know, maybe they will string us up for later! I’m sure I would be _delicious_ , how could anything say no to me?” Donut gestured towards himself. “Nothing, that’s what! I mean, they might spit out Grif,” he added, “and even Simmons!”  
  
“Hey!”  
  
“Well, _I_ wouldn’t want to eat you, Simmons. Half of you is very crunchy, y’know.”  
  
“Simmons would just sink into the water, he wouldn’t be in the risk zone,” Grif said in a bored voice. It was so well-done, Donut honestly wasn’t sure if it was faked or real. Maybe Grif _did_ have talents hidden deep, deep inside of him.  
  
“That’s true! Even more reason for the Blues to help us, they have more people who can swim,” Donut insisted and reached out to pat Wash’s arm. Oh, sweat could _look_ nice when glistening the way it currently did, but it didn’t feel nice in the least. Donut quickly redirected his hand to wipe it off on the towel Wash had thrown over one shoulder. He may be wearing gloves, but he didn’t want to _ruin_ them.  
  
“Besides,” Sarge huffed, cocking his shotgun, “You’re Blues! The ocean is Blue, which means it _and_ you are violating the ceasefire!”  
  
He said it in a way that showed he didn’t quite disapprove of it, nor was he very surprised. In fact, by the way he cocked his shotgun _again_ , it seemed like he was very eager to pick their war back up again.  
  
“Oh, fuck off!” Tucker protested right as the Red channel crackled back to life.  
  
 _-: We have acquired the target :-_ Locus said.  
  
 _-: It’s moldy beyond recognition :-_ Lopez said in his monotone voice, and Donut was sad to realize he couldn’t quite understand what Lopez had said. But _Grif_ might have, because he gasped at Lopez’s words.  
  
“No!”  
  
Blue Team stared at them.  
  
“No what?”  
  
“No, we don’t want to fuck,” Donut cut in before they could get suspicious. He hadn’t been able to turn off the Red channel when he said it, sadly, and he could hear Locus choke. That was a surprise- Donut would have thought Locus was _used_ to hear curse words, considering his previous occupation. Maybe he was more naive than Donut had guessed! It was sweet, actually. “We just want to be able to go skinny dipping without being ravished!”  
  
There were more choking sounds- but Donut had trouble figuring out if it was from Locus, the rest of the distraction team _or_ the Blue Team.  
  
Perhaps it was all of them, but he couldn’t possibly imagine why.  
  
“Sarge,” Wash began, his voice doing that shrill thing that it did whenever he grew frustrated. It was such an unfortunate habit of his, and Donut held back his need to tsk at him for it. No, it was more important to focus on the distraction, because by now Locus and Lopez _had_ to be finishing up. Unless Lopez busted a nut again, he kept dropping them everywhere these days.  
  
“Wash,” Donut said and made his voice as begging as he could without resorting to kneeling, “Please?”  
  
“Yeah, Wash,” Grif said, “Help Donut out.”  
  
“You owe him,” Simmons added. Sarge’s shotgun cocked again- Donut honestly wasn’t sure how that was possible, but then again Sarge hadn’t gotten a new shotgun for _years_ and it made sense if it was a bit different than the basic model.  
  
“Owes him?” Carolina asked.  
  
“Well, I think, it’s because Agent Washingtub helped that one time,” Caboose helpfully explained, “Tucker did it, though!” he added, rubbing at his nose. Donut felt a bit bad, because apparently the poor thing had smashed his nose when they surprised Blue team. At least, that's what Donut assumed. How else would Caboose be sporting a nosebleed?  
  
“I… don’t understand,” Carolina said. Her voice was flat, and Donut wasn’t the only one inching slightly to the left to get further away from her.  
  
“Hmpf! Classic Blue,” Sarge harrumphed and bravely didn’t fold under the glare he received for his courage.  
  
“ _Please_ , Wash,” Donut repeated.  
  
As he knew would happen, Wash folded faster than a wet blanket. Or a napkin. Possibly a house of card, too.  
  
“Fine,” he said with shoulders slumped, “Let me shower first.”  
  
“What! No, no,” Donut insisted, cringing as he put his hands on Wash’s sweaty arms to keep him from going back to base, “We’re going to the ocean! Why would you need to get wet before that? We should go _now_. Yes!”  
  
Apparently that was the wrong thing to say _.  
  
_ Blue team stared; Donut bit his bottom lip at that, suddenly grateful he wore his helmet, even if it always gave him the worst hair ever when removed and didn’t show off his gorgeous face the way it deserved to be seen.  
  
“What’s going on?” Carolina asked.  
  
“Nothing!” Simmons squeaked out, and at least _Donut_ wasn’t the worst liar of the D team. All hope was not lost, though he made a note to practice lying to the mirror after the mission was over.  
  
“What’s going _on_ is that you filthy blues aren’t cooperating!” Sarge cut in, “Which means you’re a bunch of no-good, fully expected to be- but still shocking- backstabbers! I always said, _never_ trust a blue! Look at our situation now! Stuck with the ingrates, surrounded by their ally, the ocean!”  
  
 _-: There has been a complication :-_ Locus said, voice flat, _-: the bomb burst within the mission container. The tracks lead back to the Red side of the base. :-  
  
_ All of Red Team froze.  
  
“I like swimming,” Caboose said. “It’s very wet. Yes. Muffin Man, did you bake more? The one I got turned green and I don’t want to eat Grif’s friend.”  
  
Now, there were clearly far too many things happening. The mission was seriously compromised- Donut didn’t look forward to cleaning it up, but hopefully Lopez would swab the floor for them- and Carolina was already marching towards the base while Sarge was giving the idea of a new Red vs Blue war serious consideration. And yet, Donut could only hear _green_.  
  
“My banana got moldy?” he cried out, yanking his hands away from the sweaty agent Washington, “But it was so young! So fresh and firm and moist just the other day!”  
  
“Hmmmmm,” Caboose said, dragging the sound out for a very long time, “Tucker did it.” Caboose then rubbed at his nose, smearing his nosebleed in a truly terrifying fashion all over his face, “I don’t want to nibble on Mr. Grasshopper.”  
  
“Locus!” Donut wailed, turning his back to the Blue team, “Is my bun truly moldy!?”  
  
For a moment, he only met silence. In fact, it was longer than a moment. He got no answer at all; simply the crackling that followed when someone hurriedly turned off the communication channel.  
  
“Dear god!” Sarge yelled, “Lopez and Locus are under attack! Grif, where is your traitorous sister!”  
  
“What does _that_ have to do with anything?” Grif huffed.  
  
“Well, she _isn’t_ here,” Simmons pointed out, glancing between the marching Carolina and the rest of them. “And soon Carolina isn’t here _either_ and-”  
  
The door to the base slammed open before Carolina reached it.  
  
 _“Grif’s sister is flirting with literal death,”_ the monotonous voice of Lopez said. The robot was walking as fast as he could, which was only slightly faster than his normal walking pace. He was carrying the bag that held the bomb in it, though said bag currently looked like Lopez had perhaps stuffed it full with dismembered limbs until the blood dripped through the bottom of it. Of course, _Donut_ knew it was just paint. All of Red Team knew it was red paint. But going by the way Tucker gagged behind him, Donut figured that maybe someone should clear that whole thing up.  
  
“What did he say?” Simmons said, voice reaching a new pitch that was actually pretty impressive. He had to have a _great_ singing voice, and Donut briefly considered if Grif enjoyed it or if Simmons needed some proper vocal training before he could really let it all out. However, that thought was quickly replaced by the fact that Donut had only understood about half of what Lopez said.  
  
“Who is Grif’s sister flirting with?” he asked, and gosh, he had the strangest feeling of a chill running down his spine. Or was that _up_ his spine? “Lopez! Mi hablo!”  
  
 _“That is not even a sentence,”_ Lopez replied. Donut was pretty sure Lopez had just made some words up, because honestly. How was he to translate that?  
  
“Oh my god,” Grif wheezed then, “Oh my god, Simmons, let’s fucking run. C’mon, let’s go and check out those sea monsters.”  
  
“What? Grif, are you _volunteering_ for _work_ \- hey!” Simmons squawked as Grif yanked him along, “Be careful, I _just_ polished my arm!”  
  
“Sarge,” Carolina said, her voice strained, “ _why_ does your robot carry a bag filled with… blood?”  
  
“Because he’s my best soldier! No doubt he took one of your soldiers out!” Sarge boomed. Then he poked the bag with his shotgun. It made a low clunking sound at the impact, and the gun barrel was immediately stained red. “Although, you no-good blues bleed blue! That is fact! Lopez, did you kill Grif?”  
  
“Sarge,” Donut said. He had to get his brain to work a bit again- it was all just happening so fast that he felt like someone had railed him hard against a wall! Hard enough to give him a concussion except he, of course, was perfectly fine. “Grif just left! He and Simmons went to the beach to get busy. And that’s _paint_ ,” Donut added, “Don’t you remember? Lopez and Locus-” Donut gasped. “Locus! Oh no! Oh no, Grif’s sister is--!”  
  
Apparently Donut wasn’t allowed to finish sentences around Blue Team anymore, because before he could, Kaikaina half-jogged out of the base. It was a very distracting sight, even for someone like Donut who would happily admit to not being interested in the _least_ when it came to women. Because Grif’s sister was naked. Absolutely, completely naked with the exception of a pair of glittering, bright yellow sunglasses perched on top of her head. But her half-jogging brought attention to more than one part of her, and it wasn’t the sunglasses.  
  
Sarge choked and immediately spun around to turn his back to her. Tucker let out a high pitched whistle, Carolina froze not unlike a statue as Wash slipped and fell behind Donut.  
  
“Yellow Grif,” Caboose said as Donut stood frozen, “Aren’t you cold?”  
  
 _"We live on a tropical moon, on a tropical island,”_ Lopez flatly pointed out.  
  
“Where did the hottie go?” Kaikaina Grif asked as she came to a stop next to Lopez. It came out as more of a demanding shout, and the words were enough to make Donut twitch. For some reason, he found her voice _very_ annoying all of a sudden. It was quite strange, because Donut actually liked her. She was great when it came to discussing fashion, even if she _really_ didn’t know her color theory. Of course, not _everyone_ could be perfect. And Kaikaina was a bit doomed from the start, what with sharing genes with Grif. It was sad, but it didn’t explain why Donut suddenly found himself crossing his arms and straightening up to his full height.  
  
“Which hottie?” he asked, keeping his eyes on Kai’s face. She had thrown an arm around Lopez and leaned heavily against him, peering all around them.  
  
“The green one! The murder hottie,” she explained, gesturing wildly with her other arm.  
  
“Oh! Locus,” Donut brightly replied, “Gosh golly, I’m not sure! Maybe you passed him?”  
  
“He was right in front of me,” Grif’s sister protested, “But he totally ghosted me!”  
  
“Wait, back up,” Washington said. He sounded strangled, and when Donut quickly glanced at him, Wash’s face was flushed and his eyes aimed directly towards the sky rather than any of the actually kinda mesmerizing jiggle physics that Kai was creating when she gestured, “Where did you see him?”  
  
“Ugh, I’m not talking to the cop.”  
  
“I’m not a _cop!”  
  
_ “Once a cop, always a cop!”  
  
“I was _never_ a cop!”  
  
“Can someone put clothes on her!?” Sarge cut in, his voice reaching heights Donut hadn’t even know he was capable of. It was so high, that for a moment all of them stared at him. Sarge was still standing with his back turned towards Kaikaina, hugging his shotgun close and finger twitching against the trigger. “She is performing warfare! Someone _stop her_!”  
  
“Kai,” Tucker _finally_ spoke up, “Babe, I _love_ the view, but why _are_ you naked?”  
  
“Oh, I was gonna take a shower, y’know, like. Yeah. But the murder hottie was in our bathroom, and I _totally_ had to see if he wanted to join me? But he left, with Mr. Roboto here, and I thought maybe he wanted to go to _his_ shower? But then he ghosted on me, like a total asshole!”  
  
“Why were Locus _and_ Lopez in our bathroom?” Carolina asked.  
  
“Oh, um, Lopez just wanted to fill up those holes you have!” Donut brightly replied, even if even he, a big optimist, kind of figured the mission had crashed and burned just like Simmons’ basebook idea. It had been a good idea, but sometimes good things just didn’t work out! “And Locus is such a sweetheart, he had to help out!”  
  
The stares he received were honestly insulting.  
  
“He _is_ ,” Donut insisted, “he is-” his eyes caught glimpse of something blurry and Locus-shaped on the roof. Donut blinked, “on top of- of everything! Such a hard worker, he really likes to grind himself into a sweaty mess! I should go find him. Yeah, he’s so shy, he wasn’t prepared to meet Kai when he was a big mess! Besides, maybe he _fainted_ from working so hard! Okay, see you,” he said, the words rushing out of him like a fountain of improvisation. He hurried past everyone else, only feeling a tiny bit guilty with leaving poor Sarge alone and surrounded with only Lopez for support. But Double-O Donut needed to perform an emergency pull-out, and there was absolutely _no_ time to spare.  
  
  
No one followed him at first, which was good. Partially because he didn’t _want_ to be followed, but also partially because Donut ran into an invisible wall right as he reached his destination. The impact combined with the slippery, red stained floor led to Donut falling towards said floor. Thanks to his armor, his buns didn’t bruise like peaches (as they were wont to do, whenever his rear had to handle more pressure than it was used to) as he fell. But it was still a surprise that had Donut squeak at the impact.  
  
Locus flickered into existence; he appeared frozen, one hand still holding onto the ladder which he had used to get back into the base. It was the same ladder he and Donut had used _ages_ ago during their sneaky mission. In his other hand, there was a bag with something thick and long inside it. It was a horrid mix of green and brown, and Donut’s heart broke when he realized what it was.  
  
“Oh no!” he cried out, scrambling back up, hovering his hands over the bag, “my banana bun! It really _is_ moldy!” He frowned sadly. “What a waste of food.”  
  
“Were you followed?” Locus asked.

  
“Huh? No, I- well, maybe? Oh my gosh,” Donut gasped, when he finally looked down at himself, “my armor! It’s not lightish-red anymore!”  
  
His fall to the floor had stained it; had made his beautiful, fashionable and evenly colored armor _spotted_. Uneven splotches and smears of cherry red was all over him, and Donut just _knew_ he would have to bleach his entire armor. Or, worse, order a new one! He _liked_ his armor. It was kind of retro now, in a good way. But before Donut could voice all of that, Locus grabbed him and tugged him towards Donut’s room.  
  
 _Why_ became clear very quickly; he could hear Carolina and Sarge getting into a heated argument as Carolina discovered the mess they had accidentally (and not so accidentally) made. It would only be a matter of seconds before the rest would get into the base, and Kaikaina would no doubt be amongst them. No wonder Locus wanted to hide away quickly! And what better place to hide in than Donut’s room?  
  
The vents, probably. Though Donut wasn’t sure that Locus would fit in there. The big guy was likely too thick to fit into such a tight space.  
No, Donut’s room was the best option- and they got inside it just in time, the door closing right as he caught a glimpse of Carolina marching down the hall, her focus on Sarge who was gesturing wildly with his shotgun. Then the door was fully closed, and Donut let out a relieved sigh.  
  
“That was close,” he said, yanking his helmet off. It didn’t have any red paint on it, which was _also_ a relief, and Donut carefully put it aside. “Shoes off!” he told Locus, struggling to get out of his own armor. He didn’t want to touch the stains and _spread_ it, after all. It might still be salvageable if he was careful, or so Donut hoped.  
  
But Locus, bless him, showed he truly _was_ a sweetheart. Because he stepped up and helped Donut unclasp his armor piece by piece, carefully putting the pieces on the doormat to avoid staining anything else in the room. Before long, Donut was free at last.  
  
“Want me to help stripping you too?” he asked, making sure to fix his hair as quickly as possible.  
  
“No,” Locus replied. He had removed his helmet, and Donut took a selfish kind of enjoyment in the fact that Locus had as bad helmet head as himself. “We should barricade the door.”  
  
“Oh gosh, no. I promise they won’t get in here,” he assured him, “Besides, doing that would mean rearranging everything in here! And I _just_ decorated it perfectly.”  
  
Locus didn’t look as sure as Donut, but that was quite alright. The poor guy had just had the scare of his life, being hunted by Grif’s sister. She had always been very respectful of Donut’s sexuality so he had never been on _that_ end of her attentions- although they had both had great time rating the booties of all the guys on their little moon. He should probably ask Locus what he identified as, but Donut’s attention was snatched back by the sad state of his bread.  
  
He sighed and held up the plastic bag.  
  
“Caboose is such a sweetie, but I’ll never be able to trust him with my buns ever again,” he said mournfully. “He only took one bite of it, too! Didn’t he like it? I _know_ he likes bananas, he had a go at mine just the other day.” Donut looked towards Locus. He had only gotten off his chest armor so far, the leg armor remaining. It reminded Donut of their time at the beach, and he could _feel_ his smile grow goofy. “Are you _shore_ you don’t need any help?” he asked.  
  
Locus blinked; then, to Donut’s delight, he slowly raised one eyebrow. Those wide shoulders relaxed the tiniest bit, giving Donut a hint of just how the Kai-scare had, well, scared Locus. Poor thing- he could relate, though. Being the rookie in Red Team was so _hard_ even when there weren’t missions to complete. Being chased by Grif’s naked sister surely didn’t make things easier.  
  
“I am shore,” Locus replied, a small twitch to his lips. “I apologize for causing your fall earlier.”  
  
“Pssh, don’t!” Donut waved it off, “Not your fault I didn’t see you! Well, maybe a little your fault. But that’s alright, I’ll be fine! My butt is only a little sore, honestly.”  
  
Locus frowned; Donut badly wanted to smooth out those wrinkles. Locus worried too much, that much was clear, and he badly wanted to fix that. He tried to come up with something to say- he was having an oddly hard time of it. Locus was just so _big_ , taking up so much space in Donut’s little hole of a room. But as Locus knelt down to start unclasping the holds of the boots that connected them to the armor, it brought to attention Locus’ hands. Or, to be more specific, his nails.  
  
Donut fell to his knees in an instant, making sure to be gentle even as he eagerly took hold of those hands in his own. They were so much bigger than his, but he hardly paid that any mind as he looked over Locus’ nails. Those scarred fingers twitched, but Locus didn’t snatch them back.  
  
“Oh, you’ve been taking care of them _very_ well,” Donut praised him, beaming a smile up at him as he thumbed a scarred knuckle. “Hey, maybe you should spend the night here? I can touch up on them, make sure the paint lasts longer!” He tilted his head. “Locus?”  
  
Locus wasn’t meeting his eyes; instead, he seemed stuck staring at Donut’s hands. He waited patiently for a response, but when none came, Donut squeezed Locus’ hands. That, at last, had Locus blink and look up to meet his eyes.  
  
“I apologize, my mind was elsewhere,” he stiffly said, and Donut bit back a smile at how Locus’ adorable, flustered blush made a comeback, “I did not hear what you said.”  
  
“I said, wanna have a sleepover? No one will find you here, and I could repaint your nails. Not that they _need_ that much care, they’re not even chipped. Unless you wanna try out some lightish red after all?”  
  
“... green is fine,” Locus said, flickering a glance down at Donut’s hands again. Then he slowly tugged his hands free. Donut let him; he leaned back and gave the big guy more space as Locus returned to removing his armor. “And I would not wish to intrude,” Locus added in a low murmur.  
  
“It’s not intruding if I suggest it,” Donut countered, “C’mon, it will be fun! I got no cheese or wine, but I got other stuff. I could show you how I do my beauty routine! And we could plan a funeral for my bread,” he added, sending the sad thing a glance. “I would maybe feed it to the birds around here, but what if they _die_? I never killed one my entire life, not even when we had that big cock back home that _always_ chased me. Can birds even eat banana bread?”  
  
Locus appeared to struggle with how to respond; but finally he heaved a sigh as the boots came undone, quickly followed by the leg armor.  
  
“Not being discovered by the others is… _a-peeling_ ,” he agreed, and Donut laughed. It wasn’t his _best_ laugh- more of a giggle-snort -but it made Locus’ smile in return, that tiny one that Donut was trying his best to keep count of. So Donut pushed away his own embarrassment in favor of focusing on that little smile.  
  
“Great! I’ll get what we _knead_ , then. I don’t think they will bother _me_ , so if you want me to go and get stuff from your room, I can do that!” He winked. “Double-O Donut can be sneaky too, y’know.”  
  
“I’m shore,” Locus replied, voice a little more softer than before.  
  
Donut beamed a smile back. And if his heart fluttered a bit at that, well. Surely it was only because Locus was trusting him more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the chapter that took forever to write! But I hope you guys liked it as much as Locus and Donut likes puns :D


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for violence!

Donut woke up in a different place than where he had fallen asleep.  
  
Not  _ terribly _ different. Last he remembered, he had fallen asleep on one of his cushions while Locus was returning the favor and painting Donut’s nails.  _ Apparently _ the mission had tired him out more than he thought, since Donut only remembered half of his left hand being painted. Now all of his nails were painted, as he could feel by moving the pad of his thumb along them.  
  
But he fell asleep on a cushion with his back against a wall, and now he woke up in his own bed. The blanket had been tucked up high, he felt warm and cozy and  _ absolutely _ understanding why Grif hated leaving the bed.  
  
And yet, something  _ had _ woken him. Donut frowned as he tried to figure out what it was. He didn’t sleep like a stone like _ some _ people, but he also didn’t wake up for the tiniest reason like  _ others _ . So something had to be the reason he was now awake.

But at first, he couldn’t hear or see anything that might have been the reason for it.   
  
Then a big shadow next to his bed shifted. Donut slowly sat up to look at it properly, only to relax when he saw who it was. The light wasn’t the best, but there _was_ the tiniest sliver of window that currently let in enough moonlight to make it easier to see. Which in turn made it far easier to see Locus.  
  
The big guy was positioned against the wall, and while Donut was pretty sure Locus would wake up with a horribly sore back, he _almost_ seemed comfortable. If one ignored the way his breathing had begun to pick up and how his face seemed to be twitching towards frowning territory.  
  
Donut frowned in return, because that was hardly a good sign. Spending a night in Donut’s room should leave one happy and relaxed! Euphoric if he _really_ pulled out all the stops. And yet, Locus clearly wasn’t comfortable.  
  
Locus’ hand twitched towards where Donut knew he had put aside his glowing sword.  
  
Or, Donut corrected himself, he was having a nightmare. Very possible, considering the company he used to keep. Very possible for _all_ of them, really. Nightmares were hardly news for any of them. Donut had experienced the displeasure of waking not only his fellow Reds, but also the Blues, more than once from such awful things.  
  
But waking _them_ was a bit different than waking Locus. As much of a sweetheart Donut knew he was during daytime, that didn’t change the fact that Locus had a big, glowing sword that could penetrate anything. That, and probably more nightmares than Donut could ever get himself.  
  
And so Donut sat for a moment, not sure what to do.  
  
Obviously he _had_ to wake Locus. That was just polite and, honestly, the soft little sounds escaping the big guy’s mouth was breaking Donut’s heart. A little. Maybe a lot. But he _knew_ it would be a bad idea to just reach out and shake Locus- that would at worst lead to Donut being penetrated by the previously mentioned sword, at best he could end up with a bruised face.  
  
He could use the Sarge approach, which was to throw something soft at the Blues whenever they needed to wake up. It was rude, but it worked _and_ Donut would be out of range. However, Locus was sleeping right next to his bed. His legs were unfairly long and stretched out far enough that even getting out of the _bed_ without waking him would be a challenge. If he threw something from where he was now, he would still be in the danger zone.  
  
Donut didn’t bite his bottom lip, but he _wanted_ to. His brain was still all muddled and silly from sleep, and it was becoming increasingly harder to not reach out and try to poke Locus awake. He was saying _words_ now. They were cut off and barely understandable, but Donut didn’t like it no matter how much he could understand. Speaking your nightmares outloud was _never_ a good sign.  
  
He had to try and get out of bed and make Sarge proud. Somehow- there was no other way.  
  
Donut took a deep breath, then slowly let it out. He pressed himself as close to the wall as possible and pulled his legs up and close. Then, he had to scoot. He just _knew_ his rear wouldn’t like that- what could he say, he had sensitive skin. But Donut wouldn’t be a good team mate if he didn’t try his best to help! Even if it meant his butt would be red forever and ever afterwards.  
  
So he scooted along the wall and winced every time Locus mumbled and gasped in his sleep. _Finally_ Donut reached the end of his bed. He carefully got out- Locus’ feet were still too easy to step on for Donut’s comfort- and winced at the cold floor meeting his poor, naked feet. Maybe the fashion disasters who liked wearing socks to bed were _right_. It was a horrifying thought, and Donut hurriedly pushed it away as he slowly stepped around Locus.  
  
Once safe, he picked up a pillow from his cushion pile.  
  
But he couldn’t do it; Donut stared down at Locus, clutching the pillow close. It would be so _rude_ , to just throw it at that handsome face. Sure, Locus wouldn’t be _hurt_. But Donut would know what he did, and he would _never_ be able to meet his mothers’ eyes ever again. He would be a sham of Southern Hospitality. He would be _disowned_. That, of course, was the reason he couldn’t do it, Donut argued to himself.  
  
Maybe if he poked him with something long and hard? He had a little broom he used only for his room, but how could he find _that_ in the dark? Donut scowled to himself. He could turn on the light, but he knew that could set Locus off too- it certainly woke up _Wash_ in a very bad way. Also, Donut hadn’t fixed his hair yet and he would rather avoid letting Locus see his awful, horrifying bed hair first thing in the morning. Well, night.  
  
The broom was the answer; he just had to _find_ it.  
  
Donut let go of the pillow and groped around for his helmet; he found it and only barely managed to catch it when he knocked it off the shelf. Nerves made him _messy_ , apparently, and Donut huffed at himself for it. He poked around in the helmet until he managed to flick the light on. It was tiny, only really meant for exploration in tight spaces, but it would have to be enough. He didn’t put it on- that would make his hair look even _worse_ -but instead Donut just held it like a very big flashlight as he searched the room.  
  
The nail polish had been put back where it belonged, which made him smile. Their armor was still piled neatly in one corner of the room, and there was the bucket filled with stained rags from when Locus had helped Donut clean his armor from the _accident_.  
  
But there was no broom. At least, not until Donut slowly turned the light towards the bed.  There, right between Locus and the bed, _there_ was the broom. The handle was lightish red and stood proudly in the most inconvenient spot. Apparently this was why one should always plan ahead.  
  
Donut spent a moment glaring at the offending thing, but Locus’ voice was growing louder and, worst of all, Donut could hear him mumble a familiar name. There was no time to spare for things like _glaring_. He had to crawl back into bed and grab that shaft to the broom and wake Locus up with a poke to his knee or something. So he put the helmet aside again, but he kept the light on and aimed in the direction of the bed.   
  
He carefully stepped around Locus once more, and this time Donut _did_ bite his lip. It was oddly nerve wracking to do this, unlike any sneaking missions he had ever been on. But the bed was close, and Locus had pulled his legs up, seemingly on his way to curling up into a big, muscular ball of nightmares. It made it slightly easier to get back on the bed- except Donut must have used up all of his luck the previous day, because then the worst thing happened.  
  
Donut always liked to be comfortable- not the lazy kind of comfortable _Grif_ was into, of course. But Donut liked wearing nice clothes, he liked smelling nice and he liked taking his time in the morning. He had to take care of the masterpiece that was himself, after all, because _someone_ in their team had to. But Donut _also_ liked sleeping well, which was why he had replaced the standard military mattress with something far better and luxurious. However, the mattress was just the tiniest too big for his bed, which meant that sometimes…  
  
It dipped. And slid. And, whenever it was Donut’s turn to have a bad dream, it had the habit of sliding at least halfway off the bed.  
  
So as Donut crawled back onto the bed, it began to slide. He realized it when he was halfway across the bed, but by then it was too late; the mattress slid off enough to dip and dump him right back out.  
  
Right onto Locus.  
  
The moment Donut landed right on Locus’ belly, there was a whirlwind of movement. Suddenly he was pressed into the cold floor, a hand around his throat, both his hands pinned above him. He automatically put up a struggle, but _that_ only had the hand around his throat squeeze harder.  
  
He wanted to gasp for breath; his heart was beating madly, and Donut just _knew_ he would have awful bruises. But even in the weak light of the moon, Donut could see Locus’ eyes weren’t aware. The big guy was breathing as hard as Donut, the muscle in his jaw clenching. He didn’t seem to know it was _Donut_ \- his eyes were blank and empty, and Donut struggled to think about something, _anything_ that would bring some light back into them. He could feel himself slipping towards fainting territory, and that just wouldn't do. Locus would _never_ agree to a sleepover ever again if he found Donut _unconscious_.  
  
His hands were pinned and he couldn’t talk- but his legs weren’t trapped. Donut mentally apologized for what he was about to do; and then, he kneed Locus in the stomach as hard as he could. Which was pretty hard, considering Donut never skipped leg day.  
  
If Locus had been awake and aware, he would have blocked it. But like this, _not_ fully awake and still lingering in a nightmare, Donut knew it would be successful. And it was.  
  
A wheeze escaped Locus; his grip loosened just enough for Donut to yank his hands free. He immediately put them against Locus’ shoulders and pushed upwards to prevent Locus from automatically attacking him again because _that_ would be unfortunate. Thankfully, Donut had also never missed out on _arm day_ while training, and so it wasn’t too difficult to hold Locus up and away from him. Donut didn’t want to kick him away, or flip him over- he was pretty sure Locus would just pound him hard if that happened because Donut was a tosser kind of a guy, _not_ a close quarters one.  
  
So for a moment, Donut held the position. He used the moment to catch his breath; watched Locus blink rapidly, those pretty eyes becoming clearer for every flutter of eyelashes.  
  
“There we go,” Donut said and held back a wince at how rough his voice sounded, “C’mon, big guy. The orange you dreamed was _just_ a pigment of your imagination.” He offered up a smile, “That was a reach, but gosh, it fit, right? You’re with me, and everything is lightish red and soft. I’m _shore_ of it.”  
  
Locus stared down at him. Donut didn’t hold his breath, because his throat _hurt_ and he was still gasping for that sweet oxygen. But it would be silly to not think the silent staring was nerve wracking.  
  
Then, as suddenly as it all happened, Locus yanked himself away from Donut. He could hear Locus’ back hit the wall with the force of it, and Donut coughed as pushed himself up into a sitting position. He kept his hands against the floor, watching Locus.  
  
“You okay, big guy?” he asked when it seemed like Locus wasn’t going to say anything, and Donut dared to scoot closer.  
  
“Do not,” Locus replied, voice as rough as Donut’s. He obediently stopped scooting. Locus seemed to need space, but Donut just didn’t want to risk having the poor thing run away in panic. Grif’s sister may very well still be on the prowl, but that wasn’t the reason he wanted to keep Locus in the room. Not the only one, anyway.  
  
If Locus left, Donut was pretty sure he wouldn’t come back. And _that_ was unacceptable.  
  
“Okay,” he said instead, and leaned forward. Donut propped his elbows against his legs, rested his face against his hands as he waited. Locus was trembling. It was barely noticeable, but the light from Donut’s helmet shone just enough light to make it easier to see the slight movements. It hurt to see that- nightmares _sucked_ -but Donut hoped some Double-O magic would help.  
  
“Are you okay?” he repeated, because Locus hadn’t replied before and he needed to _know_.  
  
“... are _you_?” Locus replied instead of answering. It was on the edge of rude, but Donut ignored that. He nodded and smiled instead, and hopefully Locus wouldn’t see how red his throat was. He guessed he would have to wear high collared shirts for some time, just to be safe.  
  
“Shore am,” he told him, and his smile grew wider as he saw the spark of recognition in Locus’ eyes at the pun. There was no smile, not yet, but the spark was enough for now. “You wanna talk about it?”  
  
Locus was silent. Donut bit at his lip, briefly, before he shrugged.  
  
“That’s okay,” he told him, “can’t open up all at once! But I’m here if you want to.” Then Donut held up one hand, wiggling his fingers. “Thanks for finishing the job, by the way! You really _nailed_ it. It looks great. I never even got to repaint yours, though we could do that now if you want to.”  
  
“Your voice,” Locus began, those perfectly sculpted brows pointing down in the beginning of a frown, “It’s-”  
  
“It’s _fine_ ,” Donut cut him off. A little rudeness could be excused, if it meant Locus wouldn’t obsess over a little accidental asphyxiation. “Really! I always sound like this in the mornings. You didn’t hurt me.”  
  
Locus stared; it really _was_ a bad lie, even Donut could admit that. All he could hope was that Locus was still too out of it to tell Donut so. His eyes were certainly unfocused enough. His hair was messier than Donut’s, too, but at least _Locus_ made it work even now. It was almost unfair.  
  
“I should leave,” Locus said. It was a low mumble, not at all what Donut had come to expect from his fellow Red. He shook his head in response.  
  
“No,” he protested and reached out, but Donut managed to stop himself before he grabbed Locus. “May I?” he asked, and at Locus’ weary stare, “Take your hands,” Donut elaborated.  
  
Locus slowly nodded. Donut was careful to be just as slow as he scooted closer and reached out. He grasped Locus’ hands and pulled them towards himself. He squeezed them and rubbed his thumbs against the back of Locus’ hands.  
  
“I don’t want you to leave,” he told him, because it was the truth, “You _can_ leave, if you _really_ want to. But I don’t want you to. You did nothing wrong- it’s not _your_ fault my bed dumped me into your lap. Besides,” Donut continued, “everyone have nightmares here. Wash does. Tucker does. Grif does. Even Caboose! And me.”  
  
He smiled at Locus.  
  
“I got them too. They really aren’t something to be ashamed of.”  
  
It was the truth, but Locus didn’t seem to believe it. Donut huffed and scooted even closer, until his knees touched Locus’. He squeezed those big hands again to make Locus focus- _when_ would he stop trembling? - and Donut cleared his throat.  
  
“I could talk about _my_ nightmares, if you want me to. Have a little bonding situation! Maybe while I repaint your nails.”  
  
“... there is no need.”  
  
“No need to paint your nails?” Donut asked, smiling.  
  
Locus _did_ frown then. But the expression smoothed out quickly, replaced by something awkward. It was obvious the poor guy didn’t even want to _say_ the word nightmare- but he had few other words suitable for the situation. Donut decided it was time to take pity on him. It would be kinder, instead of watching him work himself up into a hot and bothered situation.  
  
“I could braid your hair instead,” he suggested, “that is usually _very_ relaxing. We could do it in my bed, it’s way easier on the knees and I think we _both_ had enough of the floor, don’t you think so too?” He beamed a smile, the one he always used to get his way with the others. Donut was rewarded with flushed cheeks and a slow nod from Locus.  
  
“Great!” he exclaimed, and then Donut stood back up, tugging on Locus to follow him, “What kind of braid do you want? French braid? Fishbone? Oh, or a _fishtail_ one. They’re different, you know. Fishbone is made up of thicker parts, while the fishtail is made up of smaller ones. We could also braid it up into a bun,” he continued, grabbing a brush from the shelf he had above the bed while he used his other hand to push the mattress back into place. Then Donut also grabbed his helmet and positioned it so he could see Locus easier.  
  
Locus looked awkward on his bed; he was big, he still wore his uncomfortable looking undersuit that was pitch black against the pastel theme Donut had going on. His hair was _still_ a mess, half of it having slipped out of the ponytail the man had been sporting before they fell asleep. The mattress dipped under their combined weight, but it didn’t slide.  
  
Donut nudged him.  
  
“You need to sit with your back turned to me, big guy,” he told him with a grin, “I can’t braid it otherwise. Oh, that _does_ remind me- are you sensitive? To hair pulling?”  
  
“What?” Locus asked, voice blank, half-way into turning his back to Donut.

“You _know_ , so I know how careful I have to be when brushing,” he explained, fingers twitching as he watched Locus slowly turn fully around. Donut would be a liar if he didn’t admit to having fantasized about playing with that hair _a lot_. And now he finally would- he almost felt guilty for the excitement he felt, knowing he was only allowed because of whatever nightmare Locus had.  
  
“I am not sensitive.”  
  
“Oh, great,” Donut hummed. He reached out and gently freed Locus’ hair from the hair tie he used, putting it aside for later. The hair fell easily, and Donut bit his bottom lip as he began to brush it. It was so _smooth_. The tiniest bit of wavy, just enough to give it some extra volume. And it was _thick_ and glossy, and Donut gave in to temptation to gently drag his fingers through.  
  
“So what braid?” he asked, careful to be gentle as he found a tiny, hard to reach tangle at the base of Locus’ neck, switching back to the brush to deal with it, “And you _have_ to tell me your secret, your hair is as nice to the touch as it looks! It would look great in anything you do to it.”  
  
“... fishbone,” Locus said. Donut hummed in approval and began to split the hair up, gently scratching at Locus’ scalp as he did so. He didn’t get any disapproval for it- in fact, all Donut got was Locus shivering which he promptly took as a _good_ sign- and so Donut made sure to do so every time he slowly but surely began to intertwine the hair. He _could_ do it quickly, but this wasn’t about quick.  
  
Locus needed it nice and slow. Donut had _plans_.  
  
“So what is your secret?” he asked again, pausing briefly to rub at his throat. Locus couldn’t see, after all, and it really was starting to hurt now that the adrenaline was slowly fading away, “I haven’t seen any new products in the showers, which is smart, because I once left a bottle of expensive shampoo there and Caboose used it to blow bubbles. But they _were_ very pretty bubbles,” he added.  
  
“There is no secret.”  
  
“Are you sure?” Donut asked, honestly unable to believe it. He let it show in his voice, too, because _seriously_? “If your hair is this nice thanks to _genes_ , I’ll ask Sarge to kick you out of the team. Well,” he amended, “maybe I shouldn’t be so harsh. But you _have_ to have a secret. I promise to not tell anyone if that’s what you’re scared of!”  
  
“... it is not a big secret,” Locus said. His shoulders had begun to relax as Donut played with his hair; Donut considered the idea of asking Locus to strip, but the poor guy would just get flustered from that. Even _if_ the undersuit truly looked as uncomfortable as it was. Oh, it was great when they were on duty- but in bed? While resting? No, few things were as bad. But Locus didn’t need to get flustered, and so Donut reluctantly pushed the idea away.  
  
“So it’s a _tiny_ secret?”  
  
“Oil.”  
  
Donut tilted his head.  
  
“Oil?”  
  
“For hair,” Locus elaborated, voice softer than before. The trembles had finally receded. It _did_ make sense- his hair smelled nice in a way shampoo had a hard time pulling off. But Donut’s hair just never worked well with the oils he had tried in the past, so that was a little disappointing, knowing he couldn’t actually use the same products as Locus. He let out a mournful sigh and absently scratched Locus’ scalp again. The pout Donut had been sporting was quickly replaced with a goofy grin when Locus leaned _into_ the scratching. He couldn’t resist lingering there, watching Locus melt. The big guy was struggling to not show it, but that just made it _better_.  
  
Finally, Donut reluctantly pulled his hand away so that he could return to braiding.  
  
“That must be hard to get,” he said. Donut peered closer at the hair; the light was bad, but he was pretty sure Locus’ hair was four different shades of brown. It _could_ be a trick of the light, but Donut was fairly certain he had seen strands of copper in there amongst all the darker shades. “How _do_ you get more? Or have you ever run out of it?” he asked.  
  
“I began to use it shortly before I arrived here,” Locus replied, “I do not have to use much every time I apply it.” His voice was softer than before.  
  
“Oooh, that means it’s _really_ good,” Donut praised, then, “Hey, you should lie down.”  
  
Locus turned his head just enough to glance over his shoulder; Donut smiled encouragingly.  
  
“Why?” Locus asked, his frown from before returning.  
  
“Because you will relax more,” Donut told him, pushing lightly at Locus’ back. He used one hand to hold the braid together, “C’mon! I’ll wake you up if you need it.”  
  
Which Locus didn’t, of course. It was easy to see how exhausted he was. What he _needed_ was a lot of sleep, preferably in Donut’s bed because Donut had _seen_ Locus’ bed and it was just not up to standard for anything. It looked like a brick that someone put a sheet on, and so Donut pushed a bit more firmer on Locus’ back.  
  
The nightmare and the late hour had affected Locus more than even Donut had thought, because the big guy _did_ lay down. He didn’t ask why again, or try to argue his way out of it. Instead he shuffled closer to the wall and slowly laid down. His feet only barely didn’t hang over the edge. Donut smiled and watched him shuffle and try to get comfortable, feeling oddly warm at the sight. It was just so _nice_ , knowing Locus felt relaxed enough to actually listen to Donut.  
  
“Thank you,” he told him, and shuffled closer. The most logical and easiest way to keep braiding would be to straddle Locus’ back, but Donut just _knew_ Locus would get too shy again. So instead he stayed by Locus’ side and continued to braid from there.  
  
If it turned out lopsided, he was sure he could convince Locus to let him re-braid it. So far he seemed to like it- Donut didn’t think he would have to fight for the privilege. That thought sent a small thrill through him, and Donut hummed as he worked. It didn’t sound as easygoing as he usually made it- he suspected his voice might sound hoarse for a few days -but apparently it was still relaxing to listen to.  
  
Because by the time Donut tied the braid off with a brand new, lightish red ribbon, Locus’ breath had grown slow and even. Donut tilted his body enough to see the side to his face; Locus’ cheek squished against his own arms, his face smoothed out and free from all worries.  
  
It was a good view. Donut smiled and rubbed Locus’ back, and then he squirmed until he could lay down too. He made sure to put what little space he could between them- he didn’t want to invade Locus’ privacy, after all! -before he then tugged one of his many pillows closer to lay his head on.  
  
“Good night, big guy,” he whispered. Locus made a small sound in his sleep and shifted closer. Donut grinned and closed his eyes.  
  
He could worry about the bruises tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And then they spooned ;3c
> 
> I apologize that this took so long- I started this fic right before I went on vacation, and since I began to work again I've just had too much to do and too little energy to do it with. Thank you for being so patient, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter <3


	5. Chapter 5

“Does  _ anyone _ here use makeup?” he asked, exasperated. 

 

No one answered, of course. Donut was alone in his room, with no one that could respond. He honestly wasn’t sure why he had even asked the question out loud. It only made him wince at the sound of his own voice, still hoarse from the night five days ago where Locus had put it to the test  _ far _ too hard. 

 

Donut sighed, put down the tube of concealer and tilted his head to frown at himself in the mirror. The bruises were ugly things, a vivid purple and blue that Sarge would likely declare as enemies if Donut hadn’t been covering them up since he got them. They had begun to gain a green outline too, which just made it all the worse.  _ Aesthetically  _ speaking. It was a good sign of healing, of course. It just looked so...  _ ugly _ . 

 

At the very least, the pain from swallowing had gone away almost entirely. A less good thing was that he had begun to run out of waterproof concealer. 

Now, usually that meant he just had to stay away from any little water fights that might sprout up around the base. Donut  _ did _ have more concealer, just none as good nor as waterproof as this one. 

 

But their little island was experiencing a sudden heat wave, and Donut was pretty sure he would sweat off any concealer he replaced his current one with.  _ Or _ everyone would think it odd if he suddenly began to wear high collared shirts in the heat they had. And Donut wasn’t sure how hard he could push that kind of fashion decision before Locus would remember, or guess  _ or _ convince Donut to strip out of it before he could think twice about doing so.

 

And that just wouldn’t do. 

 

But he had squeezed out the last of the foundation just the other day, and delivery to their moon was  _ horrendous _ . He hadn’t even tried to order new ones, partially because he thought his bruises would be gone before it ran out, but also because it was just so  _ hard _ to order anything. But here he was now, having to throw away the empty tube of concealer and apply the lesser version of it.

 

“Hopefully it will be gone in a day or two,” he said to himself, humming as he smoothed it out, making sure no one would just happen to look at it in the wrong lightning and ask awkward questions. Poor Locus had barely been able to meet Donut’s eyes their morning after, once he found out Donut had tied his braid off with a lightish red tie that was more like a ribbon. In Donut’s defense,  _ he _ saw nothing wrong with the color, and Grif just had no tact. Considering how much time Locus and Grif spent together, one would think Grif knew how shy Locus was.

 

He eyed his reflection for a moment, before he deemed it worthy. With that, Donut put on any clothes that would help him survive the heat while  _ also _ showing off his  _ ass _ ets, before he left his room. It was the perfect time for brunch, and if he was lucky he could get Locus in on it too. Grif always licked the sticky mess from his fingers whenever he joined in, which was so, so not okay. Donut wanted  _ some _ politeness at his brunches, not Grif shamelessly licking his entire hands clean because he failed to put jam on the bread properly! Grif was of course always  _ welcome _ \- they all were- but Donut had yet to catch Locus. And he really wanted Locus to join at least  _ once _ . Maybe he would if Donut make a brunch only for him.

 

Locus wasn’t quite  _ avoiding _ Donut. Not really- he joined the Red Team breakfast regularly, and even sat in on whatever meetings Sarge set up. But whenever Donut sat next to him or tried to talk, all he received were flushed cheeks, a tense body and Locus looking more like a deer in headlights than the annoyed cat Donut had thought of him as. It was a little hurtful; Donut had thought they had gotten past the “too shy to speak” phase of their relationship. Maybe pushing for a sleepover had been too big of a step for their friendship, but it had ended so  _ well _ . And even if Locus looked adorable with the shyness, Donut just wanted to enjoy some nice puns. How could he get Locus to open up again? To relax enough to mumble a pun or two at Donut?

 

“Woah there, what’s that face for?” 

 

Donut blinked and looked up; Tucker stared back with a raised brow, midchew of a grilled cheese sandwich. He looked as if he had only just gotten out of bed, with messy hair and wearing baggy clothes with suspicious stains. Considering his late night activities, he likely  _ had _ just gotten out of bed. 

Honestly, if someone had told Donut that  _ Tucker _ would love to workout until late at night, he would have very kindly sent them to Doc for a quick assessment. Maybe even to be thoroughly examined by Dr. Grey.

 

“What face?” Donut finally replied, opening the fridge. It had been recently restocked, and he grinned as he began to take out the ingredients he needed. Baked eggs and blueberry pancakes would be  _ perfect _ for brunch, and Locus  _ wasn’t _ lactose intolerant, so that meant Donut didn’t have to worry about such things. And Locus had liked the cream pie, so perhaps he should make some of that too? Donut tapped his chin as he considered. 

 

“Like your boyfriend broke up with you,” Tucker replied, before he slurped loudly on a glass of juice. Oh! Donut put milk punch on the list of dishes for the brunch, because, well, it  _ was _ a late brunch. Late enough that it wouldn’t be  _ too _ weird drinking the white, thick and foamy drink. It was such a classic where he came from, too, and Locus had already confessed to not even being from Earth. All the more reason for him to try it!

 

“Awww, Tucker,” Donut laughed, cracking the eggs into one big, gratin dish. In a classic brunch, there was supposed to be one egg for one gratin, but Donut honestly prefered his brunches more. It was fun when others showed up halfway through the thing, though maybe less fun trying to keep Grif from stealing entire containers  _ constantly _ . “You know I have no boyfriend!”

 

“Uh-huh,” Tucker replied, “What about Locus?”

 

“Locus?” Donut hummed, sprinkling spinach into the dish, before he reached for the kitchen knife. Then Donut hesitated, and gestured at Tucker. “Could you cut the tomatoes for me? I always get  _ so _ messy from it, and you can handle blades by now, right?”

 

“Sure can,” Tucker grinned, draining the last of his juice before he got up, “I  _ do _ have a big sword, y’know. Bow-chicka-”

 

“Oh yes, I saw you training the other day! But you used a wooden version then, didn’t you? It  _ does _ make sense,” Donut allowed as he began to prepare the pancake mix instead while waiting for Tucker to cut up some slices, “Your little thing can penetrate anything, it’s really very dramatic looking. But it must make it so hard for you to train properly. Have you asked Locus to train with you? He has the same problem.”

 

“Why would I train with  _ him _ ? And why are you calling my thing  _ little _ ?” Tucker asked, and Donut frowned at him. That tone was just  _ rude _ to Locus, and honestly, wasn’t the answer obvious?

 

“Because he’s part of Red Team, and he needs to train how to handle his sword too?” he suggested, and gosh, what was with him today? It came out sharper than intended, earning him a surprised glance from Tucker. Donut  _ should _ apologize, but he realized he would rather not.

 

So he didn’t. Tucker was a  _ Blue _ , anyway. Sarge always insisted that a little rudeness towards Blues were good for the soul!

 

“Uh, I guess, but he’s creepy. Isn’t that why you haven’t had…  _ fun _ with him since last week?”

 

“Hm? No, that’s because he’s shy,” Donut replied, taking the tomato slices and carefully arranged them into the dish, “I have tried to invite him more! But maybe his hair was more sensitive than I thought,” he added, before pouring cream over the dish. Donut frowned at the dish for a moment. Something was  _ missing _ . “I probably pulled on it too hard.”

 

“Uh-huh,” Tucker replied, voice strangled.

 

“Bacon!” 

 

“What?”

 

“I forgot the bacon,” Donut said, hurriedly preparing what he needed. Thankfully they had leftover bacon from the other day- not that he wanted to know  _ how _ they had survived for so long, considering Grif- and it was easy to just throw that into the dish. They had no parmesan, but they had cheese which he grated over it all instead. They really did live like heathens. Donut could forget that sometimes, but then suddenly he needed parmesan and there was none to be found. He had to make do with  _ common _ cheese, because he certainly didn’t want to waste his gouda on it. Would gouda even be  _ good _ for this? Donut frowned down at the dish.

 

“Why do you hang around Locus, anyway?” Tucker asked. He had taken over pancake duty, which was just perfect. Donut’s pancakes were good,  _ of course _ , but Tucker was a dad and Donut had accepted long ago that only parents could  _ really _ make pancakes. So he let Tucker handle it and instead focused on seasoning the dish. After that, he slid it into the oven and grabbed the ingredients for milk punch.

 

“Why wouldn’t I?” Donut asked in return, grinning at Tucker, “He’s such a sweetheart! Besides, I know what it’s like to be the rookie. All those awful things that happens to you if you’re not careful- I remember you guys trying to shoot a load up my rear back in Blood Gulch.”

 

“Locus? A  _ sweetheart _ ?”

 

“Of course!”

 

“And you think  _ we _ are the danger to  _ him _ ?”

 

“You can be awfully mean to rookies,” Donut pointed out.

 

“How is he a rookie?” Tucker asked, and Donut grinned. Tucker had clearly been around Wash too much, with the way his voice kept pitching higher. Or maybe it was a Blue Team thing? It wasn’t  _ Donut’s _ fault that Tucker didn’t know Locus very well. 

 

“Are you asking Donut to make sense?” Grif asked, and Donut hurriedly grabbed the box of blueberries, right as his teammate reached for them. His reward was an unimpressed stare. “Dude,” Grif said.

 

“I’m  _ using _ these,” Donut told him, putting it out of reach. He was taller than Grif, anyway, so if  _ he _ had to stand on his tiptoes to reach the little box of berries, then Grif had no chance. 

 

“You suck,” Grif groaned and sat down at the kitchen table. He had obviously just come out of bed too, most likely dragged out of his room by the smell of food. Donut side-eyed him for a moment, but Grif didn’t seem to try and get any of it just then.

 

Likely waiting for it to be done so he could steal it all in one go.

 

“Okay, if Donut can’t make sense, will you?” Tucker asked, flipping the pancakes over in the frying pan, “I mean, why is Locus a rookie? You guys just forgot what he does?  _ Done _ ?”

 

“He’s a Red Team rookie,” Grif yawned, “And you got Wash.”

 

“That’s not the same thing!”

 

“That’s true,” Donut agreed brightly as he mixed the ingredients for milk punch, “Wash shot me! And left me hanging, too. Did Locus shoot you?”

 

“His boyfriend  _ stabbed _ me.”

 

Donut blinked.

 

“Locus and Felix? No, no,” Donut shook his head, pouring the drink into four glasses, because Tucker  _ was _ helping and Grif would steal one if he didn’t get offered one, “Gosh, no.” If they  _ had _ been a couple, it could hardly be counted. It couldn’t have been a good one if Locus let Felix fall to his death. “You can’t blame Locus for what  _ Felix _ did. That’s just rude, Tucker. It’s not his fault that Felix penetrated you with that awful knife of his.” 

 

“Okay, well, how about the genocide?”

 

“We don’t talk about that,” Grif replied. He sounded aloof and calm, which was good. Donut had just been about to snap something back because, well. Sure. Genocide was bad! But Locus had tried to make up for it, more than  _ Wash _ . And they all liked Wash, so why couldn’t they all like Locus? It was so silly, having double morals. 

 

“Just as we don’t talk about how Wash shot Donut,” Grif added, “or all that stuff with Wash and Church. Or Carolina being a  _ bitch _ when she showed up.”

 

“We do talk about her being very rude back then, though,” Donut pointed out. But he did pour half of the blueberries into a bowl, before handing the bowl back to Grif who greedily accepted the offering. Sometimes, one had to  _ reward _ people for being supportive. Even if said people had no idea how to eat blueberries, apparently, and perhaps Donut should just not watch Grif eat  _ ever _ . 

 

“Fine, fine,  _ whatever _ ,” Tucker groaned, sliding the first batch of pancakes onto the plate, “No bringing up the past. He’s still a  _ creep _ , though. Going invisible and shit.” 

 

“He’s  _ shy _ ,” Donut insisted. He slid one glass each to Tucker and Grif, but stored the two left over ones into the fridge, “If I was shy, I would never stop being invisible! At least he stops now and then. Grif, do you know where Locus is?”

 

“Maybe,” Grif said as he leaned back in his chair. He popped a blueberry into his mouth and glanced towards the kitchen entrance. No one was there- not even a  _ blur _ , the classic signature of Shy Locus -so Donut shrugged it off and went back to checking on everything, “Why you asking?”

 

“I’m making the brunch for him, to make up for whatever I did,” he explained, peeking into the oven to see if the baked eggs were done. Sadly they were not, and Donut found himself without anything to do- it was shameful, but he prefered to do the dishes  _ after _ eating.He really should take the opportunity and do them right then, before everything was done, but. He didn’t  _ want _ to. “But it’s hard to invite him when I can’t find him! I know he likes being around you too, so I thought  _ you  _ might have seen him.”

 

“I’m making pancakes for Locus?”

 

“You get half of them,” Donut promised, because apparently Tucker was making  _ a lot _ of pancakes, “But the rest are for me and Locus.”

 

“Ooooh, is it a  _ date _ ?” 

 

“Don’t be silly,” Donut laughed, jumping up to sit on the kitchen counter, “I just want to make up for whatever I did. Grif, do  _ you _ know what I did? Did I tug on his hair too hard?”

 

Grif looked like he almost choked on a blueberry. Donut squinted at him, feeling somewhat concerned. But Grif  _ never _ got food stuck in his throat, so why would it happen now? He wasn’t Simmons, whose gag reflex was the worst thing Donut had ever seen. Poor thing could barely brush his teeth, while Grif could inhale a hamburger and only chew once. No, Grif’s only flaw at eating was the mess he made during it. But to his credit, he  _ always _ cleaned it up at the end of it. With his tongue. 

 

“No,” Grif finally said. “He’s…  _ shy _ .”

 

Donut wrinkled his nose. The way Grif said it, it sounded like he didn’t believe Locus was shy to begin with. Which was just  _ wrong _ . Locus was shy, adorably so, but it seemed like everyone else just thought he was stoic and vaguely creepy. It was sad. 

 

But he didn’t get a chance to insist on shyness being a factor in Locus’ behavior. A quick peek into the oven revealed the baked eggs were done, and he had to nudge Tucker aside to take the dish out. Tucker himself was finishing up the last batch of blueberry pancakes, so Donut began to split the amount in half between plates.

 

“Here,” he said cheerfully, giving the plate to Tucker, “thanks for giving me a handy _ , _ Tucker, I really needed it!” he told him, “Now you can leave, and Grif, you too! Oh, but please if you see Locus, send him here?”

 

“Yeah, sure, I’ll tell shy guy to come in here,” Grif said.

 

“Why did he have to say it like  _ that _ ?” Tucker hissed at Grif, loud enough that Donut could hear it. He wasn’t sure who had said  _ what _ , but it was Tucker. The silly thing could see an innuendo in _ everything _ . But Donut didn’t dare to look away before they had left- Grif could be  _ far _ too fast when it came to stealing food, and Donut didn’t dare to turn his back to him until it was safe. 

 

“It’s Donut,” Grif replied and snatched a pancake from Tucker’s plate as they walked through the doorway. Well, at least he wasn’t stealing the food Donut had made for Locus. “Hey, Locus, get in there,” Grif continued, and Donut perked up.

 

“What the  _ fuck _ , how long were you here?” Tucker yelped, immediately jumping to put Grif between him and Locus. Locus, who slowly stepped into view of the doorway, cheeks flushed the slightest bit.

 

“I just arrived,” he replied. 

 

“Yeah, sure you did,” Tucker muttered, shoving Grif away when the other tried to snatch another pancake.

 

“Locus!” Donut said, happy to ignore the other two leaving as he bounced up to his friend. Locus looked awkward, no doubt not knowing how to act around Tucker yet, and Donut took hold of his hands. The big guy was outside of armor for once, and his painted nails were on full display. It had Donut’s smile grow wider. “I’m so glad you showed up, I made us brunch! There’s baked eggs, blueberry pancakes and milk punch! We have juice too, if you don’t like the punch,” he continued, tugging Locus towards the table, “And I thought we could make cream pie after we finished eating? I remember you liked it, and you strike me as a hands on learning kind of guy, if you know what I’m saying?”

 

“... sounds good,” Locus replied, and Donut beamed up at him when Locus squeezed his hands, “Will more join us?” he then asked, slowly and shyly and  _ cute _ and Donut had almost forgotten how endearing the big guy could be.  _ Almost _ . 

 

“Nope,” Donut replied, pulling a chair out and gently pressing Locus down into it. It took an effort to push the chair back in, but Locus was a gentleman and helped, “just us! What do you want to start with first? Tucker made the pancakes and, don’t tell him I said this, but he is  _ very _ good at making those.”

 

“The baked eggs?”

 

“I made those,” Donut replied, putting down plates and cutlery on the table, “I also made the milk punch- you never had that, right?”

 

“I am unaware of what that is,” Locus confirmed. There was a pause, before he added, “I would like to begin with the baked eggs.”

 

Donut preened at that, closing the fridge as he retrieved the glasses of punch.

 

“ _ Eggcellent _ choice!” He said, and if a laugh escaped him at how Locus’ lips twitched, then no one could blame him. It may have only been five days since Locus seemed to disappear off to nowhere, but Donut had  _ missed _ their little inside jokes. Seeing Locus seated at the table, politely waiting for Donut to sit down while smiling at Donut’s jokes- it was good. Great, even, and Donut sat down a bit too excitedly. The chair scraped too much against the floor and Donut’s knee bumped into one of the table’s legs, no doubt adding another bruise to his growing collection. At least this one he wouldn’t have to hide. 

 

“That is a good pun to crack,” Locus solemnly told him then, which only made Donut’s grin grow wider, until he knew he looked as goofy as he felt. 

 

But that was okay. It was  _ Locus _ .

 

“Thank you! It  _ shore _ means a lot coming from you,” he said. Donut nudged the milk punch Locus’ way, and he bit back a smile at how Locus eyed it. It  _ did _ look a bit strange, all thick and white and not much like milk except for the color. 

 

“It’s good,” he promised Locus, only to reconsider, “Well,  _ I _ think it’s good,” he said, “You might not. But I hope you like it! My parents used to make it every Sunday, and I got to start drinking it too when I was twenty-one and I’ve  _ loved _ it ever since. It’s thick and creamy and  _ juuuuust _ enough alcohol to add a bite to it!” Well, it was supposed to have more bite to it, but they somehow didn’t  _ have _ that much alcohol at the base.  

 

Locus offered a nod to that. He didn’t pick up the glas, not yet. Instead he put the baked eggs on his plate and carefully cut it up. Donut piled pancakes onto his instead, but he knew he might be staring a bit too hard as Locus slipped the fork into his mouth. 

 

“Is it good?” he asked, and he tried his best to not bounce in his chair. That was what  _ Caboose _ did, and they had all been trying so hard to train him out of it! But like a dog, Caboose just couldn’t contain his excitement when he felt it.

 

Donut could relate to that, right then. Especially because Locus chewed slower than a  _ sloth _ , looking stoic and blank and pretty like always. Donut almost wanted to bite his nails in anticipation, but resisted the temptation. He had grown out of that phase when he was twelve, thank you. He  _ knew _ better. 

 

Locus put down the fork. He swallowed, and Donut leaned forward, eager for the results.

 

“... it is good,” Locus said. 

 

Donut beamed at him.

 

“Thank you!” he chirped, and took his first bite of the pancakes. 

  
For a moment, they sat in silence as they ate, the only sounds made came from the clinking of their forks and knives. It was a good sign of good food, so Donut didn’t mind.

 

“You did nothing wrong.”

 

Donut blinked and looked up; he wished Locus hadn’t broken the silence  _ right _ as Donut had stuffed his mouth full, no doubt looking like a very ungraceful chipmunk. It wasn’t a look that suited him- it was more Grif’s style, honestly, except at least Donut could make it look cute- and he almost wanted to be mad at Locus for putting him in that situation.

 

But Locus looked painfully awkward and incredibly shy. Donut couldn’t understand why- he hadn’t said anything wrong. If anything, it was a compliment! So Donut focused on chewing faster and swallowing it a bit  _ too _ fast, wincing only a little.

 

“Thank you,” he told Locus, “I did work hard on this brunch, so I’m happy you liked it!”

 

Locus stared at him. The shyness seemed gone, but he still looked endearingly (and painfully) awkward.

 

“I… did not mean the brunch,” Locus slowly said. 

 

“You didn’t? Well, what else was it then?” he asked, curious. He sipped at the punch to give Locus time to think- poor thing seemed to have forgotten what he wanted to say. Except when Donut lowered the glass, Locus’ lips twitched upwards again.

 

“Moustache,” he said, and Donut held still as Locus used his thumb to swipe it off of Donut’s upper lip. That was a little embarrassing, and the whole reason his cheeks burned when Locus leaned back into his chair. Donut should know how to drink something like  _ milk punch _ without making a mess of himself. That was entirely why he was blushing, obviously. He licked his lips to make sure it was all gone once Locus leaned back in his seat. 

 

“Moustache you a question?” Donut suggested, but Locus shook his head. So not a pun, and it wasn’t about the brunch. Donut tilted his head and took another bite of pancakes. 

 

“I have not been... “ Locus faltered. Then he sat up straighter, in a way that made Donut wince even as he admired how broad Locus’ shoulders truly looked like that, “I apologize for not having been around these past days,” he said, and  _ that _ had Donut blinking.

 

“It had nothing to do with you,” Locus added, and Donut couldn’t stop the smile even if he tried. Which he didn’t, because why would he ever  _ not _ smile? Especially when Locus was trying so hard to be considerate. No, it was best to smile and reach out to squeeze Locus’ hand.

 

“Thank you,” he told him, “That’s nice to know. So you didn’t mind when I braided your hair?”

 

“No,” was the soft reply. “I did not.”

 

“That’s good to know! Does that mean I can braid it again sometime?” Donut asked, taking his hand back before Locus would get too shy or flustered from it. One day, he promised himself, Locus would be perfectly okay with hand holding at all times. But for now he was still too shy and Donut would have to just ease him into it, and  _ maybe _ ask Caboose to help out too. Maybe. Caboose was sweet, but still a Blue. 

 

Locus nodded. It was a sharp, efficient nod, which Donut found amusing. 

 

“Perhaps refrain from using a pink ribbon next time,” Locus then said, and Donut frowned.

 

“It wasn’t  _ pink _ . It was lightish red and you looked  _ very _ nice with it. I think any pastel colors would make you look stunning, and that one fits the most!”

 

Locus frowned at him, but Donut huffed in response.

 

“I’m right,” he told him, “But I’ll respect your boundaries! No more  _ lightish red _ until you ask for it.” Donut couldn’t help but pout. “Are ribbons okay, though? They look so pretty on you, and makes me want to tug on your hair more. Not that I would, of course, unless you asked me to!” 

 

Locus slowly blinked at him; the frown melted away, his hands frozen mid-cutting of the baked eggs. As Donut watched him, waiting for a response, he saw Locus’ cheeks grow darker.

 

“Ribbons are acceptable,” Locus said, and Donut grinned.

 

“Great!”

 

“As well as tugging,” Locus then added, the words more blurted out than anything else. Donut blinked again.

 

“What?”

 

“Nothing,” Locus muttered and lowered his head. Donut wanted to push, but Locus’ cheeks were darker than  _ ever _ and his shoulders looked painfully stiff. Donut definitely didn’t want to risk chasing Locus off from the brunch he worked so hard on!

 

“Okay,” he said instead, and then Donut straightened up in his own seat, “Oh! Would you like to workout together?” he asked, nudging Locus’ boot with his own foot, though Donut still only wore socks. Honestly, why did everyone insist on wearing boots indoor? It was  _ so _ hard to keep it all clean like that.

  
“Excuse me?” Locus asked, voice blank and eyes back at staring at Donut. Yolk dripped from Locus’ fork, and Donut grinned.

  
“I want to work up a sweat with you,” he explained, “Training with friends is  _ so _ much better than doing it alone, don’t you think?” Donut went to rub at his neck, remembered the bruises, and hurriedly lowered his hand again. It would be  _ very _ bad if he accidentally rubbed the foundation off, wouldn’t it? Especially when he was trying to talk Locus  _ into _ kicking his butt. 

 

“... I do not understand,” his fellow red said, and Donut wished Locus wouldn’t frown so much.  _ Wrinkles _ . Then again, the big guy seemed to have the kind of skin that rarely if ever wrinkled and Donut was a little jealous about that, “Do you not exercise with the others?”

 

“Well,  _ yeah _ , but Grif never shows up and Simmons always skips arm day so he’s super easy to pin down,” Donut replied, adding more pancakes to his plate, “And Sarge is fun, but he only wants to train with his shotgun! I want to train close combat stuff or grenade tossing, not avoiding hot loads aimed at my rear.”

 

“The Blues?”

 

“They’re  _ Blues _ !” 

 

Locus nodded in agreement, because he had slowly begun to accept that the Blues were just No Good. Caboose was the only exception, and of course they were all  _ fun _ to be around. But they were still Blue, and it was very important to remember that. 

 

“If you are certain, then I do not mind.”

 

Now it was Donut’s time to frown.

  
“If you don’t want to train with me, that’s okay,” he told him, “I just want to see which one of us are the most flexible! Also it would be fun to get pinned for once,” he added cheerfully, “It was a long time since I got a nice, friendly and proper pounding! Simmons just doesn’t give it to me hard enough.”

 

Locus, who had sipped on the punch at last and had already been wearing a not-happy face at the taste, choked. 

 

“You okay?” Donut wondered, hurriedly reaching for napkins, “Here! Gosh, Locus, if you don’t like it you don’t have to force yourself to gag on it! I won’t shame you for not swallowing,” he assured him, but that didn’t seem to help at all. Locus was probably embarrassed it had even happened, considering how his blush had grown  _ very _ visible by now.

 

“Yes,” he said, voice rough and Donut could sympathize, the bruises on his throat aching at the sound. Not that he would tell Locus that. 

 

“Yes you’re okay?”

 

“Yes.” Locus cleared his throat; Donut took pity on him and nudged a glass of orange juice towards him, “And yes, I am certain I wish to train with you,” Locus then added.

 

Donut blinked.

  
Then he grinned again, his own cheeks flushing now.

  
“Oh, good! I’ve wanted to get my hands on your body for  _ ages _ ,” he admitted. 

 

Locus froze; tiny drops of orange juice made it past his lips, and Donut considered maybe calling Doc. 

 

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

 

“I’m  _ shore _ ,” Locus wheezed out once he had managed to swallow it. 

 

“Well, if you’re  _ shore _ ,” Donut laughed and pushed more napkins Locus’ way, “Why don’t we train tomorrow?”

 

Locus nodded; his cheeks were still dark, and he looked rather miserable as he wiped up his mess. Donut felt a little bad, but he wasn’t sure what he had said that made Locus react like that. Clearly it was  _ something _ , but what? He couldn’t figure it out. 

 

Still, the most important thing was that he had a new workout buddy! And Donut planned to pound him as hard as he could.

 

Though considering Locus’ biceps, Donut would admit it was most likely  _ he _ was going to be pounded hard. Not that he would mind.

 

And after, maybe they could admire Wash from a safe distance. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that feel when your crush cooks you food for what could be a date, but you're too emotionally constipated and your crush is 10000% oblivious to everything romantic, apparently, and at the same time asks you to pound his ass
> 
> RIP Locus, but he might deserve it


End file.
